"They knew him. Miss Kenby is very unhappy over his disappearance."
Did a curious look come over Mr. Turl's face for an instant, as he
carefully regarded the picture before him? If it did, it passed.
"I've noticed she has seemed depressed, or abstracted," he replied. "It's
a pity. She's very beautiful and womanly. She loved this man, do you
mean?"
"Yes. But what makes it worse, there was a curious misunderstanding on
his part, which would have been removed if he hadn't disappeared. That
aggravates her unhappiness."
"I'm sorry for her. But time wears away unhappiness of that sort."
"I hope it will in this case--if it doesn't turn it to joy by bringing
Davenport back."
Turl was silent, and Larcher did not continue the subject. When the
visitor was through with the pictures, he joined his host at the
fire, resigning himself appreciatively to one of the great, handsome
easy-chairs--new specimens of an old style--in which Larcher indulged
himself.
"A pleasant place you have here," said the guest, while Larcher was
bringing forth sundry bottles and such from a closet which did duty as
sideboard.
"It ought to be," replied Larcher. "Some fellows in this town only sleep
in their rooms, but I work in mine."
"And entertain," said Turl, with a smile, as the bottles and other things
were placed on a little round table at his elbow. "Here's variety of
choice. I think I'll take some of that red wine, whatever it is, and a
sandwich. I require a wet day for whisky.
Pages:
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139