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Updated: May 4, 2025
"She is unhappy," he murmured at length. "It is not difficult to see that.... Unhappy and lonely. Oh, fool, fool to have left her when you might have stayed! Oh, fool, fool, not to find the strength to leave her now when you should not remain!" The following evening Corthell called upon Mrs. Jadwin. She was alone, as he usually found her.
They wouldn't have had anything in common. But Corthell that was different. And Laura did care for him, in a way. He interested her immensely. When he'd get started on art subjects Laura would just hang on every word. My lands, I wouldn't have gone away if I'd been in his boots. You mark my words, Charlie, there was the man for Laura Dearborn, and she'll marry him yet, or I'll miss my guess."
She thought of her husband hurrying away from her, ignoring her, and her love for him in the haste and heat of battle. She thought of Corthell, whom she had sent from her, forever, shutting his love from out her life. Crushed, broken, Laura laid herself down among the cushions, her face buried in her arm. Above her and around her rose the dimly lit gallery, lowering with luminous shadows.
Jadwin?" inquired Landry, as he prepared to go down town after breakfast. "I always see him in Mr. Gretry's office the first thing. Any message for him?" "No," answered Laura, simply. "Oh, by the way," spoke up Aunt Wess', "we met that Mr. Corthell on the corner last night, just as he was leaving. I was real sorry not to get home here before he left.
As the party filed in through the wicket, the other young man who had come with Landry Court managed to place himself next to Laura. Meeting her eyes, he murmured: "Ah, you did not wear them after all. My poor little flowers." But she showed him a single American Beauty, pinned to the shoulder of her gown beneath her cape. "Yes, Mr. Corthell," she answered, "one.
"All the better," said the other. "Who would want to marry a woman's man? I wouldn't. Sheldon Corthell is that. I tell you one thing, Laura, and when you are as old as I am, you'll know it's true: the kind of a man that men like not women is the kind of a man that makes the best husband." Laura nodded her head. "Yes," she answered, listlessly, "I suppose that's true."
Cressler gasped, and sitting bolt upright stared for one breathless instant at Laura's face, dimly visible in the darkness. Then, stupefied, she managed to vociferate: "What! Laura! Married? My darling girl!" "Yes," answered Laura calmly. "In July or maybe sooner." "Why, I thought you had rejected Mr. Corthell. I thought that's why he went away." "Went away? He never went away. I mean it's not Mr.
For a long time Corthell sat motionless, looking into the fire. In an adjoining room a clock chimed the half hour of one, and the artist stirred, passing his long fingers across his eyes. After a long while he rose, and going to the fireplace, leaned an arm against the overhanging shelf, and resting his forehead against it, remained in that position, looking down at the smouldering logs.
"Provided you promised not to put brass 'plaques' or pewter kitchen ware upon it." "Do smoke," she urged him. "I know you want to. You will find matches on the table." But Corthell, as he lit his cigarette, produced his own match box. It was a curious bit of antique silver, which he had bought in a Viennese pawnshop, heart-shaped and topped with a small ducal coronet of worn gold.
To-day she had expected that quite possibly the business implied in the Liverpool cable of the morning might detain him, but surely he should be home by now; and as the minutes passed she listened more and more anxiously for the sound of hoofs on the driveway at the side of the house. At five minutes of the hour, when Corthell was announced, there was still no sign of her husband.
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