The very
term that had distinguished his world, men of breeding, had been
discarded. Individuals like James Polder, blunt of speech, contemptuous,
labour scarred, were paramount to-day.
His thoughts, he realized, were a part of the questioning thrust on him
by the intrusion of Mariana's unfortunate affair into his old age. She
was always dragging him to a perplexing spectacle for which he had
neither energy nor inclination. But he'd be damned if he would allow the
importunities of the young man beyond the table to complicate further
his difficulties, and he retired abruptly behind the _Saturday Review_.
"You'd better get along up," he said brusquely, after a little.
Breakfast at an end, they settled into a not uncomfortable, mutual
silence. They smoked; James Polder unfolded newspapers which he
neglected to read; Howat went through the periodicals with audible
expressions of displeasure. He wondered when Mariana would appear.
Mariana made a fool of him, that was evident; however, he would put his
foot on any philandering about Shadrach. He could be as blunt as James
Polder when the occasion demanded. After lunch the latter fell asleep in
his chair on the porch, pallidly insensible of the sparkling flood of
afternoon.
Pages:
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390