GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN
“YES, you’re right, Sid; in these days of multi-millionaires, nothing that is written with less than eight figures is considered ‘wealth.’ Yet, even so, I count this something more than a ‘tidy little sum’ you’ve cleaned up—even if you do not. And now tell me, what are you going to do with it?”
The man sitting at the uncovered pine table in the center of the room opened his lips to answer, checked himself as if doubtful of the reception of what he might say, and then went on nervously sorting and rearranging the handful of papers and letters which he held. However, the light that came into his eyes at Keith’s question, and the smile that played around his weak lips, showed without a doubt that the “tidy little sum” promised to him at least the fulfillment of unspoken dreams.
He was a handsome man of thirty—a man of feminine beauty rather than that which is masculine. And though dressed in rough corduroys and flannels, like his companion, they added to, rather than detracted from his picturesque charm. Slightly—almost delicately proportioned, he seemed to be taller than he really was. In spite of his great beauty, however, his face was not a satisfying one under the scrutiny of a close observer, for it lacked character. There was refinement and a certain sweetness of temperament there, but the ensemble was essentially weak—it was the face of a man of whom one felt it would not be well for any believing, loving woman to pin her faith to.
Keith, sitting with his long legs crossed and his big, strong hands thrust deep into his trousers’ pockets, watched the younger man curiously, wondering what manner of woman she could have been who had chosen Sidney Williston for her lord and master.
“Poor little neglected woman,” thought Keith, with that tender and compassionate feeling he had for every feminine and helpless thing; “poor little patiently waiting wife! Will he ever go back to her, I wonder? I doubt it. And now to think of all this money!”
Williston had said but little to Keith about his wife. In fact, all reference to her very existence had been avoided when possible. Keith even doubted if his friend would ever again recognize the marriage tie between them unless the deserted one should unexpectedly present herself in person and claim her rights. Williston—vacillating, unstable—was the kind of a man in whom loyalty depends on the presence of its object as a continual reminder of obligations. Keith was sure, however, that the woman, whoever she might be, was more than deserving of pity.
“Sidney means well,” thought Keith trying to find excuse for him, “but he is weak—lamentably so—and sadly lacking in moral balance.” And never had Williston been so easily lead, so subservient to the will of another as now, since “that cursed Howard woman” (as Keith called her under his breath) had got him into her toils.