"I will see Mr. Carmody at once, Craddon."
As the man silently withdrew from the doorway a new thought came to her.
Could it be that Bill was still in New York? That his going away had been an empty threat? And was he now trying to bring about a reconciliation through the medium of his father? How she could despise him for that!
Her lips thinned, and there was a hint of formality in her greeting as she offered her hand to the tall, gray-haired man who advanced toward her.
"Well, well! Miss Ethel," he began, "all alone with a book and a cozy fire. That is what I call solid comfort." He crossed the room and extended his hands to the blaze.
"It is a long time since you have called, Mr. Carmody."
"Yes. We old fellows rarely drift outside the groove of our fixed orbit. One by one we drop out, and as each one passes beyond it shortens the orbit of the others. The circle is always contracting—never expanding. The last one of us will be found in his dotage never venturing beyond the circle of his own fireside until he, too, shall answer the call."
The voice held a note of sadness which touched the girl deeply, and she suddenly noted that the fine patrician face had aged.
"You should not speak of being old," she said gently. "Why, you are called the Wizard of Wall Street."
"A man is only as old as he feels. Until recently I have considered myself a young man. But of late I feel that I am losing my grip."