Florian
Varillo was exceedingly angry at the whole affair,--and whenever
Sylvie's betrothal was spoken of he assumed an expression of pained
and personal offence which was almost grotesque.
"Such a marriage is ridiculous!" he declared,--"Everyone can see how
utterly unsuited the two are in tastes, habits and opinions! They
will rue the day they ever met!"
And not all the gentle remonstrances of his own fiancee Angela,
could soothe his ruffled humour, or make him accept the inevitable
with grace. Angela was exceedingly troubled and puzzled by his
almost childish waywardness,--she did not yet understand the nature
of a man who was to himself all in all, and who could not endure the
idea that any woman whom he personally condescended to admire should
become the possession of another, no matter how completely that
woman might be beyond his own reach. Poor Angela! She was very
simple--very foolish indeed;--she never imagined it could be
possible for a man to carry on five or six love-affairs at once, and
never be found out. Yet this was the kind of life her "ideal" found
the most suitable to his habit and temperament,--and he had made a
mental note of Sylvie Hermenstein as one whom he proposed to add to
his little list of conquests.
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