Certainly he was warranted in
thinking anything, all he would, since her wild, impulsive appeal in the
early morning. How had it chanced, that cry from her heart! It was a
triumph in some sort for him, unsought, complete, yet so pitiable, so
mean, that he did not even care for it. His face was not triumphant;
rather, listless, anxious, careworn. He was gazing down toward the
bungalow where Briscoe stood at the head of the flight of the veranda
steps, drawing on his driving gloves, while Fairy-foot, the fine mare,
now resplendent in the least restrictions of harness that might control
her bounding spirits and splendid strength, stood between the shafts of
the dog-cart on the drive, a groom at her head, holding the bit.
Mrs. Briscoe had approached, and they discerned from her husband's
gestures that he was inviting her to accompany him. They could not hear
the words at this distance, but presently Briscoe, the most transparently
candid of men, suddenly whirled and glanced up toward the observatory
across the ravine, showing plainly that the two had become the subject of
conversation.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76