"Take yours straight I believe, Mr. Dillingham?" said Sheeley,
rejoining them; "an' yer gentleman friend?"
"Nothing for me," said Morley with unnecessary firmness. "I'll just
wait a second until the storm lets up, then be off to town."
"Do any boxing these days, Dick?" asked Dillingham, pouring himself a
second drink of whisky, as he hovered over the newly kindled fire.
"Oh! I don the mitts occasionally to gratify me friends. My long suit
these days is faro; more money in it."
Donald, standing at the window, staring out at the wild night, drummed
impatiently on the pane.
"Hurry up, Dill," he said. "I don't want to keep my mare standing so
long in the rain."
"Your mare be hanged," said Dillingham; "just wait ten minutes until I
get thawed out, and I'll go with you."
Donald had waited ten minutes for Dill before, but never with the
present sense of responsibility, born of his new connection with the
family. He knew that his only chance of getting him home was to humor
him.
How the wind whistled across the window! He wondered what Miss Lady
was doing? Was she sitting by the table in the cozy living-room at
Thornwood, with the lamplight on her hair? Was she at the harpsichord,
singing to the Colonel? Was she standing, as he was standing, at the
window, peering out into the wild night, and thinking,--and longing--?
"What's the matter with a little game of poker?" asked Sheeley,
lightly running a deck of cards up the length of his arm and reversing
them with a deftness that spoke of long familiarity.
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