Chapter XXXV READJUSTMENTS
A day or two later Alden was returning to New York. Durgan drove him to Hilyard in Miss Claxton's surrey.
All the mountains had begun to wear golden caps. Lower down the yellow pod of the wild pea and purple clusters of wild grapes were tangled in the roadside bushes. The sun shone, and the birds cawed and chirped as they quarreled for the scarlet berries of the ash; not a bird sang, for it was not nesting time.
"The doctor can't make a guess, then, as to how long Claxton may live? It may be for months, I suppose," said Durgan.
Alden drew himself up in the attitude of one who gives an important opinion. He was going back to his world of conventions, and already taking on its ways. "My dear sir, I see no reason why, with such nursing, surrounded by such luxuries, in the finest air, and in such tranquillity, he should not live—ah, perhaps for years."
"It will not be so long as that, I think."
"That must be as God wills."
But there was too much religious starch in the tone of these words to suggest acquiescence.
This good little man, with all his constancy and fervor, had not a large enough soul to see so vile a prodigal feasted without resentment.