For it was obvious that Julian
Bayne had no intention of soon relaxing the tension of the situation by
the elimination of the presence of the jilted lover. Pride, indeed,
forbade his flight. His self-respect clamored for recognition. There was
no cause for humiliation in his consciousness, and he could not consent
to abase himself before the untoward and discordant facts. He did not
disguise from himself, however, that, if he might have chosen earlier, he
would have avoided the ordeal of the meeting, from which he shrank in
anticipation. Already he was poignantly conscious of the heavy draughts
it made on his composure, and he raged inwardly to note how his fingers
trembled as he stood before the rack of guns, now and again a weapon in
his hands, feigning an interest in examining the construction first of
one and then of another.
The entire place suggested a devotion to sport and whole-souled
hospitality. The vast spread of the autumnal landscape, in wonderful
clarity and depth of tint, was visible through the large, open front
doors.
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