“I am going down to the office to talk it over with papa. They have asked for an immediate answer by wire. It is not necessary to tell you what the answer will be. Won’t you come with me? I’ll turn the electric fan on you while we talk shop.”
“But, Lary, won’t I be horribly in the way?”
“How could the other half of me be in the way? Don’t you see, dear, you must be with me when my father has the proudest moment of his life. This will be the antidote for all that Marksley poison in his soul.”
XXI The Cloud on the Horizon
I
That night Theodora wrote a long letter to her mother. It was devoted almost wholly to Lary’s triumph. The following week the Bromfield Sentinel heralded on its front page the news of Mr. Larimore Trench’s latest artistic success. The florid paragraph hinted of other successes. One must not infer that the designing of a New York millionaire’s country home was a novel experience to the brilliant young architect, whose parents were natives of Bromfield. The item ended with the announcement that Mrs. David Trench was a guest in the home of her brother, “the Honourable T. J. Larimore.”
“Whew! we’d better confiscate this thing before Lary sees it,” Eileen ejaculated. “Mamma always could pull the long bow; but she pretty near overshot herself this time. You’d think Lary was a corporation.”
“Would Sylvia be vexed?” Judith asked. Sylvia was out riding with Dr. Schubert when the garrulous sheet left the postman’s hand.