With shaking hands he lifted out one of the
weapons to examine it, and all the while, of course, his thoughts
were upon his wife and Tremayne. He was considering how
well-founded had been his every twinge of jealousy; how wasted, how
senseless the reactions of shame that had followed them; how
insensate his trust in Tremayne's honesty, and, above all, with
what crafty, treacherous subtlety Tremayne had drawn a red herring
across the trail of his suspicions by pretending to an unutterable
passion for Sylvia Armytage. It was perhaps that piece of duplicity,
worthy, he thought, of the Iscariot himself, that galled Sir
Terence now most sorely; that and the memory of his own silly
credulity. He had been such a ready dupe. How those two together
must have laughed at him! Oh, Tremayne had been very subtle! He
had been the friend, the quasi-brother, parading his affection for
the Butler family to excuse the familiarities with Lady O'Moy which
he had permitted himself under Sir Terence's very eyes. O'Moy
thought of them as he had seen them in the garden on the night of
Redondo's ball, remembered the air of transparent honesty by which
that damned hypocrite when discovered had deflected his just
resentment.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222