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Updated: June 29, 2025
The whole of Gumbolt was there at least, all of those who did not side with Mr. Drummond, the Methodist preacher. Terpsichore was there, and Keith, who danced with her. She was the handsomest-dressed woman in the throng, and, to Wickersham's surprise, she was dressed with some taste, and her manners were quiet and subdued.
Keith gave a little wave of his arm, as if he would sweep away his insolence. "I have come to warn you that old Adam Rawson is in town hunting you." Wickersham's self-contained face paled suddenly, and he stepped a little back. Then his eye fell on the clerk, who stood just inside the door. "What do you want?" he demanded angrily.
Keith, who had found it useless to try to sleep even in a remote corner of the hotel, returned just then, and whether it was that Terpsichore caught sight of him as she glanced his way, or that she caught sight of Wickersham's hostile face, she faltered and stopped suddenly. Wickersham thought she had broken down, and, under the influence of the champagne, turned with a jeer to Plume.
She tapped solemnly the spot where she imagined her heart to be, that dry and desiccated organ that had long ceased to know any real warmth. A little time afterwards, Keith, to his great surprise, received an invitation to dine at Mrs. Wickersham's. He had never before received an invitation to her house, and when he had met her, she had always been stiff and repellent toward him.
An expression of contempt swept across Keith's face. "Sit down," he said. "I will relieve your mind. Mrs. Wentworth is quite ready to meet any disclosures that may come. I have her power of attorney. She has gone to her husband and told him everything." Wickersham's face whitened, and he could not repress the look of mingled astonishment and fear that stole into his eyes.
I think it's that young Keith, and I advise you to get hold of Keith." "Who is Keith? What Keith? What is his name?" asked Mr. Wickersham. "Gordon Keith." Mr. Wickersham's face brightened. "Oh, that is all right; we can get him. We might give him a place?" Mr. Halbrook nodded. Mr.
"Perhaps, she might like to come down and see the place?" he suggested. "It is not what it used to be, but we can make her comfortable." His glance as it swept about him was full of affection. Mr. Wickersham said he feared that Mrs. Wickersham's health would not permit her to come South. "This is the very region for her," said the General.
There was something in the tone and look that made Keith wish to say no, but he said doggedly: "I have done it regularly, and was glad to get the opportunity." He was conscious of a certain change in Wickersham's manner toward him. As they drove along he asked Wickersham about Norman and his people, but the other answered rather curtly. Norman had married. "Yes." Keith had heard that.
Wickersham's approaching steps were crisply precise; he stopped an arm's length in front of them, and his words were an echo of that last sentence of Steve's. "It's time you retired," he said, ignoring the other man's presence entirely. "It's cold, and you have a long, hard ride ahead of you to-morrow." For a barely perceptible moment, with the eyes of both men upon her, Barbara kept her place.
The champagne-cooler, filled with ice, was already on the floor beside the table. Keith looked at it grimly. The curtains of the window were down, and Keith walked over to see on what street the window looked. It was a deep embrasure. The shade was drawn down, and he raised it, to find that the window faced on a dead-wall. At the moment the door opened and he heard Wickersham's voice.
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