'I wonder you don't do a head of Arthur as you can't do a caricature.'
'My dear, you mustn't expect everyone to take such an overpowering
interest in that young man as you do.'
The answer added a last certainty to Margaret's suspicion. She told
herself bitterly that Susie was no less a liar than she. Next day, when
the other was out, Margaret looked through the portfolio once more, but
the sketches of Arthur had disappeared. She was seized on a sudden with
anger because Susie dared to love the man who loved her.
The web in which Oliver Haddo enmeshed her was woven with skilful
intricacy. He took each part of her character separately and fortified
with consummate art his influence over her. There was something satanic
in his deliberation, yet in actual time it was almost incredible that he
could have changed the old abhorrence with which she regarded him into
that hungry passion. Margaret could not now realize her life apart from
his. At length he thought the time was ripe for the final step.
'It may interest you to know that I'm leaving Paris on Thursday,' he said
casually, one afternoon.
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