As she made
him snug he observed with a grim smile that his recovery was a pity. He
could almost hear, so he said, Dixon and Johnstone and Hecksher and
others of his cronies making the remark that his death would be a lucky
way out of the scrape.
She had come, dressed for the street, to tell him she was walking down
to the Temples', to see what had become of Drusilla Fane. She thought it
needless to add that she was inventing the errand in order to go out and
take notes on the new aspect the world must henceforth present to her.
He looked at her with an approval that gradually merged into a sense of
comfort. She had chosen the simplest dress and hat in her wardrobe, as
significant of a chastened soul; but simplicity more than anything else
emphasized her distinction. "She'll be all right," he said, consolingly,
to himself. "Whatever happens she's the kind to come out on top. Rupert
Ashley would be a fool to throw over a superb, high-spirited creature
like that. He'll not do it. Of that I feel sure."
The conviction helped him to settle more luxuriously into the depths of
his couch and to relish the flavor of his cigar. He was quite sincere in
the feeling that if she were but safe he should be more or less
indifferent to the deluge overwhelming himself.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191