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At that moment a maid servant approached the broker. "Mrs. Williams wishes me to show you to your room, sir," she said. "All right," replied Brockton, turning to follow her. To Laura, he said: "I'll go and brush up. Wait for me here. I'll be back in a minute." Laura sat motionless, watching the winding road, which, like a long, undulating ribbon, led up the declivity out of the valley.
Millicent saw Lena walking sedately with the governess of no charm and encyclopaedic information. "Now we're all right," called Brockton, loudly. "Upon my word, Mrs. Dinsmore, I think you were asleep! Miss Harned, you can't be as entertaining as I thought if your cousin falls asleep with you." "But think how soothing I must be; that's even better than to be entertaining." "By ginger!
Henry Villard, it will be remembered, had married the daughter of Garrison, the famous abolitionist, and it was through his relationship with the Garrison family that Brockton came to have the honor of exemplifying so soon the principles of an entirely new art. Sunbury, however, was a much smaller installation, employed overhead conductors, and hence was the first to "cross the tape."
Sally was the best cook in Brockton any day, but on Thanksgiving she could work wonders. He looked with longing eyes from one dish to another. Now the big pies were out of the question, and the cranberry tarts he felt of them lovingly but no, they were altogether too sticky. He stood on tiptoe to see what was on the second shelf.
Slipping her hand involuntarily through the broker's arm and looking eagerly with him over the balustrade, she asked with girlish enthusiasm: "Do you like him?" "I don't know him," replied Brockton with an amused smile. "Well, do you think you'll like him?" she persisted. "I hope I'll like him," he answered reservedly. "Well, if you hope you'll like him, you ought to think you'll like him.
I wish yer luck." "Thank you." "I'm mighty glad you sidestepped Brockton," he went on. "You're young, and you're pretty, and you're sweet, and if you've got the right kind of a feller, there ain't no reason on earth why you shouldn't jest forgit the whole business and see nothin' but laughs and a good time comin' to you, and the sun sort o' shinin' every twenty-four hours in the day.
"Oh, nothing. I guess I'm nervous, too." "I dare say you are." "Yes, I am." Brockton rose slowly from his chair. Crossing over to where she sat, he stood with folded arms, looking her squarely in the face. There was a hard look in his eyes, a determined expression around his mouth.
Carelessly throwing his cigar over the balustrade, he rose from his seat, and stood leaning on another chair a short distance away. Laura, meantime, had not moved, except to place her left hand on a cushion and lean her head wearily against it. She still sat motionless, her gaze steadfastly fixed on the road in the pass. Brockton broke the rather awkward silence. "A real man?" he echoed.
We cruised clear over to Trumet to hear that Brockton medium that was stayin' at Obed Taylor's there and when we got to Obed's we found she'd been called back home unexpected and had left on this afternoon's train. So we came back here and Marietta's goin' to try to get in communication herself. That's all there is to it.... Now don't waste any more time askin' fool questions. Set down.
In order to avoid his caresses, Laura had leaned forward. Her hands clasped between her knees, she gazed straight past him, with a cold, impassive expression. Brockton looked at her silently for a moment. The man was really fond of her; he wanted to try and comfort her, but of late a wall seemed to have risen between them.
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