"It's all over," she announced, decisively. "We'll
drive back and leave to-day." She sighed. "That's gone already," James
Polder showed her the sun slipping toward the western hills. She moved
up to him, laid her hand on his arm. Howat Penny went ahead. He must
speak to her after dinner. As the motor slowly gathered momentum he
turned and looked back at the dark, pinkish dwelling in its tangle of
grass and bushes run wild. Dusk appeared to have already gathered over
it, although the sun still shone elsewhere in lengthening dusty gold
bars; the wide-spread beech was sombre against blank shutters, the
chimneys broken and cold.
XXXIV
A letter for James Polder was at Shadrach, and he opened it immediately,
glancing over its scrawled sheet. Howat saw a curious expression
overspread the other's countenance. He called, "Mariana!" in a sharp
tone. She appeared from the foot of the steps. "Harriet never went
home," he told her; "this is from Pittsburgh. She's back on the stage."
A premonitory dread filled Howat Penny. Mariana stood quietly, her gaze
lifted to Polder. "She never went home," he repeated; "but writes that
suddenly she--she didn't want to, and couldn't stand Harrisburg another
week. She saw some one and had a part, that ought to be good, offered to
her; and, so--"
"Is that all, Jim?"
"No," he replied; "there is more, absolutely unjustified.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398