Looming large in Taylor’s thoughts this morning was Carrington. Having overheard Carrington talking of her on the train, Taylor thought he knew what Carrington wanted; but he was in doubt regarding the state of the girl’s feelings toward the man. Had she yielded to the man’s intense personal magnetism?
Carrington was handsome; there was no doubt that almost any girl would be flattered by his attentions. And had Carrington been worthy of Marion, Taylor would have entertained no hope of success—he would not even have thought of it.
But he had overheard Carrington; he knew the man’s nature was vile and bestial; and already he hated him with a fervor that made his blood riot when he thought of him.
When he reached Dawes he found himself hoping that Marion would not be in town to see that his ankle was unbandaged. But he might have saved himself that throb of perturbation, for at that minute Marion was standing in the front room of the big house, looking out of one of the windows at Parsons, wondering what had happened to make him seem so glum and abstracted.
When Taylor dismounted in front of the courthouse there were several men grouped on the sidewalk near the door.
Neil Norton was in the group, and he came forward, smiling.
“We’re here to witness the ceremony,” he told Taylor.
Taylor’s greeting to the other men was not that of the professional politician. He merely grinned at them and returned a short: “Well, let’s get it over with,” to Norton’s remark. Then, followed by his friends, he entered the courthouse.
Taylor knew Judge Littlefield. He had no admiration for the man, and yet his greeting was polite and courteous—it was the greeting of an American citizen to an official.
Taylor’s first quick glance about the interior of the courthouse showed him Carrington. The latter was sitting in an armchair near a window toward the rear of the room. He smiled as Taylor’s glance swept him, but Taylor might not have seen the smile. For Taylor was deeply interested in other things.