For some must watch, while some must weep—so runs the world away.’
The older I grow, Richard, the more I am amazed at Shakespeare’s thorough grasp of human nature as we find it at the end of the nineteenth century.”
Richard arose and donned his overcoat.
“Well, John,” he remarked smilingly, “I’ll compromise with you, then; I’ll read Shakespeare instead of the contemporary writer to whom you have introduced me; and thus your hope for my redemption may still be kept alive.”
Fenton made no answer, and a moment later they stood at the door, looking through the frost-covered glass upon the wind-swept street. For an instant they hesitated to plunge into the wintry blast. Suddenly Fenton turned to his companion.
“How did Mrs. Percy-Bartlett impress you, Richard?”
The unexpectedness of the question caused the young man to start nervously.
“I find her,” he answered hesitatingly, “a very charming woman.”
“Yes, I believe you do,” returned Fenton gruffly.
Then he pushed open the doors, and made his way hurriedly across Broadway, leaving Richard Stoughton standing on the hotel steps, gazing wonderingly at the retreating figure of his eccentric friend.