“I don’t think I shall see a great deal more of it,” Fox answered, with an enigmatical smile.
Berkman stared. “You!” he exclaimed; “you’re at the threshold, man; in another year or so the country will be clamoring for you.”
“Or against me,” said Fox scornfully; “wait a moment,” he added, with a complete change of tone, “I’ll go with you, this room suffocates me to-day, it’s full of vapors!”
Meanwhile old Mrs. Allestree sat opposite to Judge Temple in his library; the door was closed and they were alone save for the birds in the garden, for the windows were wide open, cool striped awnings shading the room from the warm glow of the afternoon, which steeped that secluded spot in slumberous calm.
“Stephen, I’m the criminal,” she said firmly, “Robert had nothing whatever to do with it; there’s your old check and you’ve got to keep it!”
The judge colored painfully; he had aged twenty years in the last few weeks and his old friend saw it. Once or twice she had winked back her tears but her voice was acrid.
“I can’t keep it and keep the picture,” he said firmly; “Robert has earned the money; I distinctly stipulated that I should pay the regular price for the portrait.”
“And Robert never meant you should! My dear friend, you and I know that he loves Rose; why hurt the boy’s feelings?”
“That’s one reason why I can’t accept it, don’t you see—” the judge stopped abruptly.