In the house on Madison Avenue, Curtis Waring was left in possession
of the field. Through his machinations Florence had been driven from
home and disinherited.
He was left sole heir to his uncle's large property with the prospect
of soon succeeding, for though only fifty-four, John Linden looked at
least ten years older, and was as feeble as many men past seventy.
Yet, as Curtis seated himself at the breakfast table an hour after
Florence had left the house, he looked far from happy or triumphant.
One thing he had not succeeded in, the conquest of his cousin's heart.
Though he loved himself best, he was really in love with Florence, so
far as he was capable of being in love with any one.
She was only half his age--scarcely that--but he persuaded himself
that the match was in every way suitable.
He liked to fancy her at the head of his table, after the death of his
uncle, which he anticipated in a few months at latest.
The more she appeared to dislike him, the more he determined to marry
her, even against her will.
A BALL PLAYER'S CAREER
Being the PERSONAL EXPERIENCES AND REMINISCENCES of ADRIAN C. ANSON
Late Manager and Captain of the Chicago Base Ball Club
1900
To My Father Henry Anson of Marshalltown, Iowa, to whose early training
and sound advice I owe my fame
CONTENTS
CHAP.
She was the only one likely to inherit John Linden's wealth, and by
marrying her he would make sure of it.
Yet she had been willing to leave the home of her youth, to renounce
luxury for a life of poverty, rather than to marry him.
When he thought of this his face became set and its expression stern
and determined.
"Florence shall yet be mine," he declared, resolutely. "I will yet be
master of her fate, and bend her to my will. Foolish girl, how dare
she match her puny strength against the resolute will of Curtis
Waring?"
"Was there any one else whom she loved?" he asked himself, anxiously.
No, he could think of none. On account of his uncle's chronic
invalidism, they had neither gone into society, nor entertained
visitors, and in the midst of a great city Florence and her uncle had
practically led the lives of recluses.
There had been no opportunity to meet young men who might have proved
claimants for her hand.
"When did Miss Florence leave the house, Jane?" he inquired, as he
seated himself at the table.