The train schedule was propitious. He came. The instant after he had deposited his travelling bag on the floor of the guest room, he began to ply Judith with questions concerning the deucedly clever fellow who was building Avis Sanderson’s house. He had driven over the place with some friends, had inspected the drawings, and had commissioned Ramsay to enter into negotiations with the architect. By-the-way, he had sold the house at Pelham. He was thinking of a princely estate on Long Island—French château style—to be finished before her mother’s return from Paris. This man, Trench, would be the one to handle it.
“Papa, you don’t seem to understand that I am going to marry Larimore Trench this evening!”
“Oh, quite so, quite so. Ramsay told me he would be the one. It’s a singular piece of good fortune. I never liked the idea of putting Ben in one of those big offices, where a young draughtsman is swallowed up. The boy hasn’t brains enough to go it alone. This way, Trench can take him into a partnership. I’ll talk it over with his mother. I’m crossing, the first of December, for a couple of months in London and on the Continent. I’m worn out, and the doctors say—Damn it all, Judith, I can’t give up ... go to the wall at fifty four, with a family to support. Black specks floating in the air, no appetite for breakfast. It’s a dog’s life, and they’ll skin me out of my eye teeth while I’m gone.” He stopped, disconsolate. After a moment he resumed, his manner somewhat detached:
“I was thinking that you might have the apartment. I’m not in it once a week. Hotel so much more convenient. Maids sleep their heads off—nothing to do. I sold off everything, at Pelham, except the rugs and a few pictures that the beggars wouldn’t give me a price for. Thought I didn’t know what Orientals were worth. Offered me thirty dollars for that little Blakelock. An idiotic smear of red and yellow paint; but it’ll be worth money some day, mark my word. And that reminds me ... Jack has got over his craze for flying machines and wants to study art. The boy’s a failure—no good on earth. Perhaps Trench will steady him.”
“Larimore, his name is, papa.”
“Larimore? Ramsay said the name was Trench.”
Judith gave it up.
VI
At dusk the simple ceremony was read, Dr. Clarkson of the College officiating. Sydney Schubert played the Bridal Chorus from Lohengrin as Mr. Denslow descended the stairs with his daughter. Before them Eileen walked, her head bowed, her face pale and serious. In the cozy angle of the hall, Lary and Dr. Schubert met them. The formality was a concession to Theodora. The murmured responses were all but extinguished by Mrs. Trench’s sudden flood of weeping. When it was over, Eileen said to Judith, between lips that hissed with anger: