Something had altered her, and he was divided between
suspicion of the last week's mail, the arrival of which had been
about contemporaneous with her change of spirit, and some local
cause. Was a letter from Smith, the millionaire, or Bobby, the
friend of her childhood, responsible? Or was the cause nearer at
hand?
For one preposterous moment he thought of the Unspeakable Perk. A
quick visualization of that gnomish, froggish face was enough to
dispel the suspicion. At least the petted and rather fastidious
Miss Brewster's fancy would be captured only by a gentleman, not
by any such homunculus as the mountain dweller. Her interest,
perhaps; the man possessed the bizarre attraction of the freakish.
But anything else was absurd. And the knight was inclined to
attaint his lady for a certain cruelty in the matter; she was
being something less than fair to the Unspeakable Perk.
The searchlight of his surmise ranged farther. Raimonda! The young
Caracunan was handsome, distinguished, manly, with a romantic
charm that the American did not underestimate. He, at least, was a
gentleman, and the assiduity of his attentions to the Northern
beauty had become the joke of the clubs--except when Raimonda was
present.
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