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Updated: June 11, 2025
Carelessly at his ease, Carl noted how the bold eyes of the painted Spanish grandee above the mantel, the mild eyes of the saint in the Tintoretto panel across the room and the flashing eyes of Diane seemed oddly to converge to a common center which was Starrett, white and ill at ease. And of these the eyes of Diane were loveliest.
I know your head was turned a bit by the salary Starrett gave you, but you'll not go back to that sort of work for a while anyway, will you?" "No," said Dick. "If I knew something of scientific farming," he added after a while, "I think I'd stay home. Dad's a doctor, a kindly, old-fashioned chap. I I'd like to have you know him, Carl he's a bully sort.
For all his insolent habit of dominance and mockery he was keenly sensitive and to-night the significant defection of Starrett and Payson after months of sycophantic friendship, had made him quiver inwardly like a hurt child. Only Wherry had stayed with him when his career of reckless expenditure had arrived at its inevitable goal of ruin. There remained, financially, what?
Starrett had sneeringly suggested that, to remedy his fallen fortunes he might marry Diane! Carl laughed softly but recalling suddenly how Diane had looked as she stood in the doorway, the flame of her honest anger setting off her primitive grace, he frowned thoughtfully at the fire, swayed by one of the mad, reckless whims which frequently rocketed through his brain to heedless consummation.
"As an aesthete I must own that Starrett is too fat for a really graceful villain. I fancied you were indefinitely domiciled at the farm. Aunt Agatha has been fussing " "I was," nodded Diane. "A whim of mine brought me home." Carl dropped easily into a chair and glanced at his cousin's profile. The delicate oval of her face was firelit; her night-black hair one with the deeper shadows of the room.
He's whizzin' off like mad toward the Sherrill place, with his motor a-hummin' an' a-purrin' like a cat. Leanish, sunburnt chap with eyes that 'pear to be laughin' a lot." Diane's eyes flashed resentfully and as she walked away to the house her expression was distinctly thoughtful. "If you're broke," said Starrett, leering, "why don't you marry your cousin?"
With the swift grace which to Carl's eyes always bore in it something of the primitive, Diane swept away, and the staring tableau dissolved into a trio of discomfited men of whom Carl seemed But an indifferent onlooker. "Well," fumed Starrett irritably, "why in thunder don't you say something?"
The jubilee closed with the singing of a Hymn of Thanksgiving written for this meeting by Mrs. Helen Ekin Starrett, the only woman living who had attended the first and last conventions of the National Suffrage Association 1869-1920. Sarah A. Evans, president of the State Federation of Clubs ten years; on the Child Labor Commission eighteen years and market inspector for Portland sixteen years.
"Yes, mother," she answered obediently, rising hastily as the hint of annoyance in her mother's repeated remark brought her to a realization of having been addressed. Letting her mother and Mrs. Starrett precede her in the doorway she paused to look back at the scene that had interested her so strongly. What could it mean? What was going on? How was she involved in it?
The collision of marble and glass is unvaryingly eventful." Bellowing indignantly, Starrett charged into the hallway, followed by Payson. Presently the outer door slammed violently behind them. Wherry lingered. Carl glanced curiously at his flushed and boyish face. "Well?" he queried lightly. Wherry colored.
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