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Updated: May 3, 2025
The longer she talked the firmer the widow and the daughter became, not only because she clarified suspicions that had been too hazy to take form, but also because they disliked her intensely. The following day Wharton Conover became unofficial administrator. He had no difficulty in baffling Frank Gower's half-hearted and clumsy efforts to hide two large fees due the dead man's estate.
But he had inflicted a monstrous disturbance on the man he meant in his rash, decisive way to elevate, if not benefit. Gower's imagination, foreign to his desires and his projects, was playing juggler's tricks with him, dramatizing upon hypotheses, which mounted in stages and could pretend to be soberly conceivable, assuming that the earl's wild hints overnight were a credible basis.
Still, Gower's cannery was getting salmon. In those three bays no other purse seiner could shoot his gear. Folly Bay held them under exclusive license. Gill nets could be drifted there, but the purse seiner was king. A gill net goes out over a boat's stern.
"That will be enough now," she went on, taking out her ten-pound note. She put Lady Gower's ring back upon her finger and picked up Philip's ring and watch with the pleasure of one who has come into a great fortune. She turned back at the door. "Oh," she stammered, "in case any one should inquire, you are not to say who bought these." "No, miss, certainly not," said the woman.
He counted them silently as they flipped over the bulwark and fell into the chilly hold, marked a slip, handed Gower the money for them. The hand that took the money, a pudgy hand all angry red from beating sun, had blisters in the palm. Gower's face, like his hands, was brick red. Already shreds of skin were peeling from his nose and cheeks. August sun on the Gulf. MacRae knew its bite and sting.
"That will be enough now," she went on, taking out her ten-pound note. She put Lady Gower's ring back upon her finger and picked up Philip's ring and watch with the pleasure of one who has come into a great fortune. She turned back at the door. "Oh," she stammered, "in case any one should inquire, you are not to say who bought these." "No, miss, certainly not," said the woman.
The 'monastic man of fashion, of Gower's phrase for him, entered, crooning condolences, with a stretched waxen hand for his friend, a partial nod for Nature's worshipper inefficient at any serious issue of our human affairs, as the earl would now discover. Gower left the two young noblemen to their greetings.
One evening they were taking the usual two-hours' constitutional which is often the poor substitute for exercise in the case of reading men and discussing together the chances of the coming scholarship examination, when they found themselves near a place called Gower's Mill, and heard a sudden cry for help.
In Mildred Gower's brain they were the natural, the inevitable, thoughts. They indicated everything as to her training, nothing as to her character. So, when she, thinking only of a rich marriage with no matter whom, and contrasting herself with the fine women portrayed in the novels and plays, condemned herself as shameless and degraded, she did herself grave injustice.
"One must believe in something," says Tita. "I suppose," pencil poised in hand, "you would like to ask Mr. Gower?" "Certainly." "And his aunt?" "Certainly not." "Oh, but I should," says Tita; "she amuses me. Do let us ask old Miss Gower!" "I begin to think you are a wicked child," says Rylton, laughing, whereon Miss Gower's name is scrawled down on the list.
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