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Updated: May 1, 2025
Conny, with her negligent manner and her childish treble voice, gave the talk a poke here and there and steered it skilfully, never allowing it to get into serious pools or become mere noise. In one of the shifts Cairy asked Isabelle, "Have you seen Margaret since her return?" "Yes; tell me why they came back!" Cairy raised his eyebrows. "Too much husband, I should say, shouldn't you?"
"She is very intelligent she will get over the Shaw-measles quickly." "You think so?" Conny queried. "Well, with all that money she might do something, if she had it in her.... But she is middle class, in ideas, always was." That afternoon Isabelle had confided her schoolgirl opinion of Mrs. Woodyard to Cairy. The young man balancing the two judgments smiled.
Cairy had hinted at something of this kind. Margaret patted Isabella's pretty head. "My little girl," she mocked, "how wonderful the world is, and all the creatures in it!" From this month's visit at the Springs the Colonel got some good golf, Mrs.
"If you are interested in this matter of the Pacific roads, Tom," Lane continued, handing Cairy the cigarette box, "I will have my secretary look up the data and send it out here.... You will be with us some time, I suppose?" Cairy mumbled his thanks. After this scene Vickers felt nothing but admiration for his brother-in-law. The man knew the risks. He cared, yes, he cared!
Conny complained. "You do come in, you know!" Cairy brought his chair and placed himself near the fire; then leaned forward, looking intently into the woman's eyes. "I think sometimes the women must be right about you, you know." "What do they say?" ... "That you are a calculating machine, one of those things they have in banks to do arithmetic stunts!" "No, you don't, ... silly!
When Isabelle and Cairy came up to the house from their afternoon ride, they found Vickers playing croquet with Miss Betterton and the two little girls, who in his society were approaching something like informality in their manner of addressing each other. "He looks quite domestic," Cairy jeered. "Hello, Vick! Come over and see the horses," Isabelle called.
Her little world was all arranged for, she reflected complacently. John would stay at the hotel and go up to Grafton over Sundays, and he had joined a club. Yes, the Lanes were shaking into place in New York. Cairy sent her some roses when she sailed and was in the mob at the pier to bid her good-by. "Perhaps I shall be over myself later on," he said, "to see if I can place the play." "Oh, do!"
And shortly afterwards Cairy, who had become subdued, thoughtful, pleaded work and went upstairs. When Vickers rose early the next morning, the country was swathed in a thin white mist. The elevation on which the house stood just pierced the fog, and, here and there below, the head of a tall pine emerged. Vickers had slept badly with a suffocating sense of impending danger.
"That was kind of you," he murmured, and they were silent a long time. It had come over her suddenly in the afternoon that she must see Cairy, must drink again the peculiar and potent draught which he alone of men seemed to be able to offer her. So she had written the note and made the excuse. She would not have given up the Hillyers altogether.
In the large gay party of returning Americans that surrounded Isabelle and Cairy on the ship Vickers was like a queer little ghost. He occupied himself with his small charge, reading and walking with her most of the days.
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