Feebly, in spite of the bandages that swathed the arm nearest
her, he put out his own brawny hand and rested it on hers. She did
not withdraw it, but passed the other hand gently over his
throbbing forehead. Never have I seen a greater transformation in
an invalid than was evident in Mortimer Warrington. No tonic in
all the pharmacopoeia of Dr. Mead could have worked a more
wonderful change.
Not a word was said by either Warrington or Violet for several
seconds. They seemed content just to gaze into each other's faces,
oblivious to us.
Warrington was the first to break the silence, in answer to what
he knew must be her unspoken question.
"Your aunt--gambling," he murmured feebly, trying hard to connect
his words so as to appear not so badly off as he had when he had
spoken before. "I didn't know--till they told me--that the estate
owned it--was coming to tell you--going to cancel the lease--close
it up--no one ever lose money there again--"
The words, jerky though they were, cost him a great physical
effort to say.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103