THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
all discordant memories from his love-thoughts of Jenny Mere. And then to be met by La Gambogi! It might be that, after his stern words, she would not seek to cross his path again. Surely she would not seek to mar his sacred love. Yet, he knew her dark, Italian nature, her passion of revenge. What was the line in Virgil? Spretaeque—something. Who knew but that somehow, sooner or later, she might come between him and his love?
He was about to pass Lord Barrymore’s mansion. Count Karoloff and Mr. FitzClarence were lounging in one of the lower windows. Would they know him under his mask? Thank God! they did not. They merely laughed as he went by, and Mr. FitzClarence cried in a mocking voice, “Sing us a hymn, Mr. Whatever-your-saint’s-name-is!” The mask, then, at least, was perfect. Jenny Mere would not know him. He need fear no one but La Gambogi. But would not she betray his secret? He sighed.
That night he was going to visit Garble’s and to declare his love to the little actress. He never doubted that she would love him for his saintly face. Had she not said, “That man whose face is wonderful as are the
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