William Le Queux

William Le Queux

Summary

Portrait of William Le Queux William Le Queux Whoso Findeth a Wife

Here, as I pen these last few lines of my strange story of England’s peril, my own betrayal, and my wife’s fond love, Ella, with sweet, glad smile, moves forward to stroke my hair with soft, caressing hand. The odour of sampaguita pervades her chiffons, stirring within me memories of the past. We are together in the room I know so well, with its great windows overlooking the leafy Avenue. It is warm, the sun-shutters are closed, and from somewhere outside the gay air, “Si qu’on leur-z-y f’rait ça” is borne in upon the summer wind.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of William Le Queux William Le Queux Whoso Findeth a Wife

I cried angrily. “I foolishly trusted him, believing implicitly in his honour and in Ella’s purity.”
“Of the latter you surely have no cause for suspicion,” he exclaimed quickly.
“I am not so certain,” I replied with bitterness. “The more deeply I attempt to probe this mystery, the more sorrow I heap upon myself. I was happy in the belief that she loved no other man except me, yet apparently she is as tactful as an adventuress, and delights in toying with a man’s affections.”
“Every woman is fickle,” my friend remarked sympathetically.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of William Le Queux William Le Queux Whoso Findeth a Wife

Why should I strive for the happiness of one to whom I owe all my grief and despair?”
“Surely no misfortune of yours is due to her?” I protested quickly.
“Misfortune!” she wailed, her eyes flashing. “Would you not call the loss of the man you love, misfortune?” Then, in quieter tones, she added with a sigh, “Ah, you don’t know, Geoffrey, how intensely bitter my strange, adventurous life has been. You believe, no doubt, that a woman of my character cannot love. Well, I thought so once. But I tell you that in London I loved one man; the only man I ever met that I could marry.
Source: Gutenberg

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