Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 189: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

-_ 180 “WHERE CAN SHE BE?” was no use in struggling, for each moment she was falling more and more under the stronger influence. She felt that Rose’s deep black eyes must penetrate to her very brain and read all the selfishness aud shallowness there. ‘‘What salary do you receive?’’ Rose asked, presently. ‘Rive hundred francs a week,’’ replied the actress, proudly. ‘‘And you manage to wear such costumes on that sum? And they tell me you own fine horses and a country-seat in Normandy, to say nothing of sumptuous apartments in Paris. Truly, afranc must goasfarasa dollar does in America. ”’ The actress made no answer to this ironical assertion. ‘‘Or else your manager must possess a marvelous amount of confidence in you,’’ proceeded Rose, still quietly, ‘‘to ad- vance so much to you. Your ear-rings, for example, must have cost you a year’s pay, and that fleur-de-lis, in the lace at your throat, must be worth——’’ Florence’s nature had borne all it was able to endure, she never could bear to be found fault with, and this was worse than a scolding. She always had been a puppet, a mere infant, in the hands of her stronger-minded sister, and had never received anything but indulgence from her. The strain, therefore, was more than her over-burdened nerves could endure, so, taking her handkerchief from her belt, she put it to her face and burst into sobs. Pretty, lady-like sobs they were, not calculated to make her nose red nor to swell her eyelids, but quite genuine for all that. Hitherto Rose had always melted at the sight of her dar- ling’s tears. They had never failed to accomplish their mis- sion or to gain the required result, and Florence had no Gomichbooks.com