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Floyd," says Marcia, with a sneer that is a weak and small edition of her husband's. A lowering frown crosses Wilmarth's brow, then an expression quite inscrutable to Marcia, amusement it looks like, but she knows he is angry and has a right to be. "I will go down there this afternoon," she says, with alacrity. "You will do no such thing.
All the wretchedness of her life seems to have culminated, the little doubts she has thrust out or tried to overlive. Somehow she appears to have worked a great and unwitting change in the Grandon family. Once, when Denise was in a discursive mood, she told Violet of Mr. Wilmarth's proposal of marriage. What if she had married him? Violet thinks now.
Eugene has given him the setting off of a hero, and would like to picture to their wondering eyes that deadly struggle, but is bound by a sacred promise. They are horrified, too, by Mr. Wilmarth's sudden death. Violet's heart swells with pity as she sees the pale, tired face and heavy eyes.
This man has hated him because he interfered with his plans and unearthed his selfish purposes, but he, Grandon, has no desire for revenge. Let him wrap himself in the garment of dead honor, his shall not be the hand to tear it asunder. He takes the tidings back to the factory with him. They look over Wilmarth's desk.
Does he care for anything more? Could he have it if he did care, if he desired it ardently? Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth's reception is a crush. It would seem that no one stayed away, and it looks as if they might have brought cousins and aunts. She is in pale blue silk and velvet, and looks very pretty, for Marcia brightens up wonderfully with becoming dress. Mr.
"Your brother has not your father's head for business," Wilmarth says, with scarcely concealed contempt. "No. It is quite a matter of regret, since it was to be his portion." "To-morrow we will meet here for the settlement of the note," announces Mr. Connery. Then they say good morning with outward politeness. Wilmarth's eyes follow Grandon's retreating figure.
I have been drawing patterns; but I would rather his call should not be mentioned." Briggs bows obediently. In her own room Marcia gives way to a wild delight. She is sure she does not look to be over twenty, she is glad to be rather small, and can imagine how she will appear beside Mr. Wilmarth's broad shoulders and frowning face.
When Floyd and Violet are out of the way, Marcia attires herself in a white cashmere dress and scarlet geraniums, and steals down to the drawing-room wrapped in a Shetland shawl, nervous, curious, and expectant. What if he should not come? It is not Jasper Wilmarth's intention to slight the gods. He is scrupulously dressed, and understands the courtesies of society, if he seldom has need of them.
What are Mr. Wilmarth's views on the subject?" "St. Vincent has to change something or other. He is very sanguine, and wants Wilmarth to wait a little. I don't believe he has perfect faith in it." "I want you to read father's letter," Floyd says gravely. "Not to-night, old fellow. To tell the truth, my head aches and I feel stupid. We'll look into things to-morrow.
They are in the hall by this time. Eugene nods coolly to Wilmarth, and Violet speaks with a curious inflection, her thoughts are elsewhere, but Wilmarth's steel-gray eyes remark that without reading the motive. "Where has your brother gone?" he asks of Eugene. "I was not aware of any urgent business when I saw him this morning." "I dare say it is his own affairs.
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