“What an absurd idea! But, Jack,—shall you still go to Beman’s? You can’t, you know. Everybody would laugh at you. A man with forty millions or so, doing clerk’s work in a bank! It’s ridiculous!”
“No doubt! But what am I to do with myself? What do people like that do? I can’t hang about the clubs all day.”
“You can stay at home and talk to me,” said Katharine. “We can tell each other how much nicer it is than when we had to meet in Washington Square in the early morning—when I had to put red ribbons in my window—do you remember? It’s only three or four weeks ago, but it seems years.”
“It does, indeed. What tight places we’ve been through together since your father refused to hear of me as a son-in-law! Holloa! There goes Ham Bright! What in the world can he be doing down here at this time of day?”
Bright was walking towards them, as quickly as it was natural for him to walk, with his long, heavy stride.
“It’s of no use to run away—he’s seen us,” said Katharine.
“He looks in a better humour than I’ve seen him lately,” answered John in a low voice, as they approached Bright.
They met and stood still a moment on the pavement. Even under his great disappointment Hamilton Bright had never shown the least ill-temper, though he had avoided the Lauderdales and the Ralstons as much as possible, and had managed so that he scarcely ever saw John at the bank except from a distance. But he had been very gloomy of late. Now, however, as Ralston had said, he looked more cheerful.
“Going down town again?” asked John. “Not that I come from Boston, you know, Ham—but when one meets a man going down South Fifth Avenue at half past five in the afternoon, one’s naturally curious. What’s up?”
“Oh—nothing. I was just going as far as Grand Street about a house I’ve bought there. Did you know they’d found the other will?”