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The flash of a silk hat, and the deferential way in which the assembled neighbors fell back to clear a passage, made his identity clear. Theron felt his blood tingle in an unaccustomed way as this priest of a strange church advanced across the room a broad-shouldered, portly man of more than middle height, with a shapely, strong-lined face of almost waxen pallor, and a firm, commanding tread.
With an unexpected access of tenderness, Anthony Jr. longed to see once more that tumbled shock of white hair, that strong-lined face; to hear again the gruff tones of that voice he loved so well. After all, there were only two Anthonys left in the world, and he had been to blame. He acknowledged that he had been a ne'er-do-well.
She groped for and dropped into a wicker chair, her head sinking in shame and self-abasement. Never never! And before her mind swam another face, a face with the hair ruffled about the brow, clear of eyes and strong-lined, as she had beheld it in the moonlight of the road. All at once she tugged at a finger, fiercely pulling off the engagement ring.
The room was half filled with people, and the mass of them were elderly and middle-aged women. There were rows of their homely, faded, and strong-lined faces set in sober bonnets, a sprinkling of solemn old men, a few bright-ribboned girls, and in the background a settee or two of smart young fellows. Right in front of Mrs. Field sat a pretty girl with roses in her hat.
He was too familiar with Indian etiquette to make an advance, and in fact his interest was but languidly aroused. The men sat about the larger fire smoking. It was the hour of relaxation. In the blaze their handsome or strong-lined brown faces lighted good-humouredly.
With a wife like you'll be wal, mebbe Jack'll " "Dad!" burst out Columbine. "Marry Jack!... Why I I don't even remember him!" "Haw! Haw!" laughed Belllounds. "Wal, you dog-gone soon will. Jack's in Kremmlin', an' he'll be hyar to-night or to-morrow." "But I I don't l-love him," faltered Columbine. The old man lost his mirth; the strong-lined face resumed its hard cast; the big eyes smoldered.
I cannot stay here." Mrs. Vanderpool arose and walked over to her. She stood above her, in her silken morning-gown, her brown and gray sprinkled hair rising above the pale, strong-lined face. "Zora," she faltered, "will you leave me?" Zora answered, "Yes." It was a soft "yes," a "yes" full of pity and regret, but a "yes" that Mrs. Vanderpool knew in her soul to be final.
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