Love stories; North Carolina -- Fiction; Women singers -- Fiction
"It may be," Dermott returned, calmly. "Most things are open to that
interpretation. I'm afraid, however, you will have difficulty in proving
it so. I have had the certificates of the marriage and of the birth of
the child for a long time, but international law requires much. I have
living witnesses. In Carolina, in looking up the matter," he spoke the
word vaguely, "I failed to find anything which would disprove the points
I have just placed before you. I was awaiting some letters from France
before explaining the case to you, when Katrine demanded that her debt
to you be paid immediately. There are many reasons why I do not wish to
pay that debt now, reasons which we, as men, can understand. She might
not comprehend them, and she certainly would not give the idea a straw's
weight if she did, having once made up her mind. Now I'm going to tell
her that I've paid her debt, Mr. Ravenel. It will comfort her. But with
the matter which I have revealed to you still a little unsettled, and
the markets in the state they are in, I cannot do my duty as executor
and fulfil her desires immediately. After all, it is a small amount, and
if my personal check--" He waited, and Ravenel spoke.
"Mr. McDermott, Miss Dulany's indebtedness to me is too slight to
consider. About this other terrible business, I shall search my father's
papers! It is necessary that I do everything I can to protect my
mother's name as well as my own."
"That's reason," Dermott agreed.
"As to Miss Dulany--"
Both men turned, for at the far end of the room Katrine stood, under the
swinging light of a Japanese lamp, regarding them.
She came rapidly toward them, her head a little forward, her cheeks
scarlet, and a gleam of temper in her eyes, which Frank had never seen,
but with which Dermott was not unfamiliar, and took a place between
them.
"See!" she cried, smiling, and there was never another woman in all the
world who had the appealing smile of Katrine Dulany. "Don't let us make
this all so dreadful. There is just some mistake," she said, with a
gesture of impatience; and from here she went on with a certain
terrifying ability, peculiarly her own, to come directly to a point.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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