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"All right, Marian," he answered.
With the elaborate brass poker he broke
up the fire. Observing that the ensuing
blaze lit the room with a cheerful glow, he
did not turn the button of the silk-hooded
electric light. Standing before the grate,
he waited, whistling softly.
" I was afraid that you might forget and
not be on time,'' she began, with a measure
of retrospective reproach as she arose and
came toward him. The shadowed dimness
in a degree hid her as she advanced,
but even by the mild gleam of the flickering
flames her beauty was made apparent.
In the loose, lacy garment which she wore,
almost Greek in its folding though not of
Greek simplicity, she lost nothing in loveliness.
Indeed, in all the glory of evening
dress, in the full magnificence of ball
gown, Stanwood considered that he had
never seen her look better. She drew toward
him rather like an amiable tragedy
queen, as if Mrs. Siddons's portrait as the
"Tragic Muse" had stepped out of Sir
Joshua's canvas and approached for fiveo'clock
tea. Actually, she sat down on the
arm of one of the large leather chairs and
then, as she saw him more clearly, spoke
quickly.
" Why, what is it, Jim? '' she asked, with
a solicitude which was unmistakably real
and tender. "Has anything bad happened?"
" No—rather good," he answered deliberately.
"That is," he immediately continued,
with a doubtful wistfulness, "if my
election as a director of the A. & M. Bank
is good."
"Why, that's splendid," she indorsed
heartily. "I am glad for you and I am
glad for myself, for I am always glad when
you are."
"Are you?" he demanded earnestly.
"Of course," she replied as if surprised.
"When people have gone through as much
of life together as we have, naturally
they take an interest in each other," she
laughed, "without—counting something
else."
"Isn't it the something else that counts?"
"Certainly," she responded promptly,
"when it's there."
"And we've had it there," he continued
insistently.
"You know it," she returned. "Why
do you ask that—at this late day?"
Arthur Orton's Career 181
" I suppose," he went on absently, "just
because it is a late day."
"Anyhow," she laughed, "you are a little
late. Oh, you must go up-stairs to
dress immediately. You know that we
are dining at the Draytons'."
She paused, and began again suddenly:
"Who—who do you suppose that we
are to meet?"
"Who?" he asked indifferently.
"Orton," she replied. "He is so great
now that no one says Mr. Orton or Arthur
Orton any longer."
"Arthur Orton I" Stanwood exclaimed.
He sat down in a low armchair by the
fire and gazed steadily at it.
"Yes," she continued. " It is an honor.
It is one of the Draytons' very grandest
dinners. He is to dine there, but has to go
away at once to speak at this meeting."
"He is a great man, certainly," Stanwood
declared constrainedly.
"Isn't he?" she responded while, taking
up one of the volumes, she bore it to a
bookcase. The darkness of the distant
corner as well as the action which averted
her face rendered Stanwood's scrutiny
impossible. Unavoidably, he wondered
how much her conduct had been planned
in order to attain such a result.
"You—you have followed his career? "
"Of course," she announced, searching
for the place of the straying volume. "I
could hardly help it, with some new triumph
to attract one's attention always."
Stanwood winced and, resting his hand
on the arm of the chair, drummed noiselessly
with his fingers.
"Oh—hang it," he said, and his voice,
in which was not a little hopelessness, gave
the mild expletive a startling significance.
With the association of years comes a
marvellous knowledge of every spoken
tone, of the meaning of each variation and
inflection of utterance, so that she looked
at him doubtfully, aware that he was unusually
stirred.
" He is coming here and he is going to be
at the dinner?"
" Yes—why not? " she said, coming back
to the fire.
"There is no getting away from him."
"What do you mean?" she demanded
as she looked closely at him.
"What's a man to do, Marian? I've
done my best, and what's the use?"