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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Doubtless your brother has spoken of me, Jasper Wilmarth." This, then, is his father's partner. He is utterly amazed, bewildered. "I heard of your return," he continues. There is something peculiar, as if the man weighed every word. "We have been looking for you," rather dryly. "I hope my delay has not proved injurious to the business," says Grandon, recovering his usual dignity.
Wilmarth shrugs his shoulders and the useful sneer crosses his face. "Mr. Grandon," he answers, imperturbably, "I have seen the elements of success fail from lack of skilful handling." "You proposed for the hand of Miss St. Vincent," and then Grandon could bite out his tongue if it would recall the words. "Yes," with half-contemptuous pity.
Wilmarth looks on with a sardonic suavity, saying little, and betraying surprise rather than ill-humor, but he hates Floyd Grandon to the last thread. The man has come between him and all his plans. No mere money can ever make up to him for being thus baffled. Floyd Grandon takes his way along to the little eyrie.
They glance at Wilmarth, as being in some sense head of the business. He knows, no one better, of all the obstacles that have been placed in the way, so cunningly that no man could put a finger on the motive. It has been his persistent resolve to let everything run down, to bring the business to the very verge of bankruptcy.
Connery will invoke the aid of the law if there is no other way out. Mr. Wilmarth is taken very much by surprise, that they can both see. His first attitude looks like battle. Mr. Connery makes a brief and succinct statement, explaining what he puts very graciously as a mistake or an informality, and Wilmarth listens attentively.
Even the next morning they merely nod carelessly, and no word is said until Floyd brings home the notes. "Have you any more debts?" Floyd asks in a quiet tone, which he means to be kindly as well. "No." Then curiosity gets the better of the young man. "Was there an awful row, Floyd?" "Mr. Wilmarth, of course, saw the utter impossibility of any such agreement.
The factor he had not counted on was Floyd himself. Marcia is set wild with the first waltz. She is new to wifehood, and she stands a little in awe of Jasper Wilmarth. There are people, husbands, who object to it. Eugene is too late to secure madame, and stands looking rather bored and sulky. "Would you mind dancing it with me, just once?" says Marcia, pleadingly.
It is Marcia's pony phaeton, and two ladies are in it, one a Mrs. Locke, Marcia's neighbor. "I have been down to Grandon Park," she begins, nervously. "I had some dreadful tidings! What a terrible night! Your sister " "What has happened to Mrs. Wilmarth?" he cries, in alarm. Can her husband have wreaked his vengeance upon her? "Her husband was found dead this morning in his library.
"He will agree to it," answers Floyd, in a tone not to be mistaken, since it implies the young man would dispose of his birthright any day for a mess of pottage. "Still, I should suppose there would be a feeling of honor," says Wilmarth, with his suave sneer. "I think my honor has never been questioned, Mr. Wilmarth, nor my integrity."
There are no private papers, but they find two notices that the insurance policy has expired. For almost a week the place has been uninsured. "Well," he comments, with a grim smile, "we shall at least escape an inquisitorial examination. Jasper Wilmarth planned better for us than he knew. But this must be renewed to-day, and the damage repaired as speedily as possible.
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