"I never cared for salads, before," he replied truthfully.
"Why did you eat it?"
"I ate it, and I liked it because you made it for me. I am not used to being waited upon, and I rather like the experience."
"You poor man!" Winifred sympathized without reflection. "It must be horrid not to have anyone to do things for you. I should think—I mean——" she colored as she met Philip's eyes, "I mean—Charlie says that I have spoiled him completely."
The advent of Blair relieved the girl from her condition of fragmentary speech, and they talked of the Latimers and the political outlook for the coming winter.
Danvers took his leave with a feeling of regret at parting from unexpectedly congenial friends. How little he had known of Blair—the good fellow. How cheery and unaffected Winifred was! The years were bridged which had separated him from his kind, and as he walked down the street he felt a glow of kindness toward all the world.
He called at the hotel, thinking Latimer might have returned, but Mrs. Latimer pettishly denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. He often went for long walks, she said, and seldom returned until late. "Won't you stay until he returns?" she invited, but Danvers pleaded business.
Twice during the afternoon Danvers ran up to the judge's office, but failed to find him until evening. Seeing a light in the inner office, he opened the door and entered.
The judge did not look up. He sat with his back to the door, and gazed intently at a revolver, while his hand played idly with the trigger.
Danvers stepped forward and silently reached for the weapon.