If Douglas Dale had just announced that
some dire misfortune had befallen him, the faces of the men around him
could not have been more serious. No one smiled; no one applauded his
choice; not one voice congratulated him on having won for himself so
fair a bride.
That ominous silence told Douglas Dale how terrible was the stigma
which the world had set upon her he so fondly loved. The anguish which
rent his heart during those few moments is not to be expressed by
words. After that most painful silence, he walked to the table at which
it was his habit to sit, and began to read a newspaper. Sir Reginald
watched him furtively for a few moments in silence, and then left the
room.
After this the two cousins met frequently; but they never spoke. They
passed each other with the coldest and most ceremonious salutation. The
idlers of the club perceived this, and commented on the fact.
"Douglas Dale and his cousin are not on speaking terms," they said:
"they have quarrelled about that beautiful Austrian widow, at whose
house there used to be such high play."
In Paulina's society, Douglas tried to forget the cruel shadow which
darkened, and which, in all likelihood, would for ever darken, her
name; and while in her society he contrived to banish from his mind all
bitter thought of the world's harsh verdict and cruel condemnation.
But away from Paulina he was tortured by the recollection of that scene
at the Phoenix Club; tormented by the thought that, let him make what
sacrifice he might, he could never wipe out the stain which those
midnight assemblies of gamesters had left on his future wife's
reputation.
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