XIX
Never had there assembled beneath the roof of the Dunlap mansion since the old house was constructed, a company so entirely uncomfortable as that around the table in the library on the night that Walter Burton dined for the last time with Mr. Dunlap.
John Dunlap’s mind was filled with doubts concerning what was his duty with regard to Burton, having due consideration for the memory of his deceased brother, and as to what would have been the wish of that beloved brother under existing circumstances. Recognizing, as John Dunlap did, the influence that his personal antipathy for Burton had upon his conduct, he was nervous and uncomfortable.
Burton felt the restraint imposed upon him irksome, even for the time of this brief and final visit to the home where his best emotions had been aroused, and the purest delights of his artificial existence enjoyed. He was anxious to be gone, to be free, to forget, and was impatient of delay.
Jack Dunlap, pale and somewhat thin, still carrying his arm bound to his breast, felt the weight of the responsibility resting upon him in releasing Lucy’s husband from a promise that for months had held him near her should the husband’s presence be required at any moment, and was correspondingly silent and meditative.
Nervous, expectant and fearful, David Chapman sat only half attentive to what was said or done around him. His ears were strained to catch the first sound that announced the coming of the visitors which he now dreaded.
“The terms of the settlement of my interest in your house, Mr. Dunlap, are entirely too liberal to me, and I only accept them because of my anxiety to be freed from the cares of business at the earliest possible moment, and am unwilling to await the report of examining accountants,” said Walter Burton as he glanced over the paper submitted to him by Chapman.
“Do you expect to leave the city at once?” asked Mr. Dunlap in a hesitating, doubtful voice.