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Updated: June 12, 2025
That's the charm of it. When one grows tired, that is the restful part of it to simply start, having no plans; just to leave, and drift away haphazard. One is always bound to arrive somewhere, William." He had been pacing backward and forward, the burning cigarette balanced between his fingers, turning his handsome head from time to time to answer Portlaw's ill-tempered questions.
There's somebody here who wants to meet you, but Portlaw's got her somewhere. You'll take supper with us anyway! We'll find you a fair impenitent." Hamil stared at him coolly. He was on no such terms with Malcourt, drunk or sober. But everybody was Malcourt's friend just then, and he went on recklessly: "You've got to stay; hasn't he, Dolly? Oh, I forgot Miss Wilming, Mr.
"Why, isn't that curious, Helen! Right off the bat like that! cricket-bat," he explained affably to Tressilvain, who, as dinner was imminent, had begun fumbling for his check-book. At Malcourt's suave suggestion, however, instead of drawing a new check he returned Portlaw's check. Malcourt took it, tore it carefully in two equal parts. "Half for you, William, half for me," he said gaily. "My my!
Malcourt insisted that he recalled their meeting at Portlaw's Adirondack camp on Luckless Lake two years before, cudgelling his brains at the same time to recollect seeing Virginia there and striving to remember some corroborative incident.
This climate is sure to get a white man sooner or later, if he remains too long. But the North will put you into condition. You're going straight to Portlaw's camp on Luckless Lake?" "Yes," said Hamil listlessly. "Well, we'll be in New York in a week or two. You'll surely look us up when you're in town, won't you? And write me a line about Acton and father won't you?"
Then, suddenly, the heavy table rose slowly, the end on which Shiela's hands rested sinking; and fell back with a solid shock. "That's rather odd!" muttered Tressilvain. Portlaw's distended eyes were fastened on the table, which was now heaving uneasily like a boat at anchor, creaking, cracking, rocking under their finger-tips.
Thus wilt thou leave me? Are we thus to part? Is Portlaw's Park the passion of thy heart?" Laughing, he answered in the Grecian verse: "Whatever the gods shall destine me to bear, 'Tis mine to master with a constant mind; Inured to peril, to the worst resigned, Still I can suffer; their high will be done."
"Surely," nodded Hamil absently. And they sped on, the vast distorted shadow of the car racing beside them to the station. Portlaw's camp in the southern foot-hills of the Adirondacks was as much a real camp as the pretentious constructions at Newport are real cottages.
Having been planned, designed, and constructed according to Portlaw's own calculations, the dam presently burst and the escaping flood drowned some of Mrs. Ascott's sheep. Then somebody cut some pine timber on her side of the line and Mrs. Ascott's smouldering indignation flamed.
Every morning and evening the fleet little Morgans came tearing in from Pride's Fall with the big leather mail-bag, which bore Portlaw's initials in metal, bulging with letters, newspapers, magazines for Portlaw; and now and then a slim envelope for him from his aunt, or letters, bearing the Palm Beach post-mark, from contractors on the Cardross estate, or from his own superintendent.
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