“Mr. Cater has been here,” announced Lois, in explanation.
“Cater! I’m sorry to have missed him.”
“He was very sorry you were not at home. He did not go until eleven, and I was sure you would be in before that.”
“Well, I meant to be.”
“Yes; he was telling us so many things. Justin,”—something prompted her against her will to say what had been rankling in her memory,—“he thinks Mr. Martin is like a crab, and that he takes people in between his claws and pinches them. I wish you’d be careful.”
Steel seemed swiftly to incase her husband. “He will not pinch me, at all events,” he said shortly. After a moment’s pause he made an effort to return to his former manner, but with an altered tone:
“I’m sorry I was kept so late. I was some time consulting with Selden about the house; you can have the closet. After that we were all talking at Leverich’s. He had a friend out there to-night, a fine young fellow, extraordinarily interesting; he was giving us points on the South American trade. He’s going to be of great use to us, he goes down there again in the spring. He’s a fine-looking fellow, by the way, tall and well set up; he reminds me of Brent, Lois—you remember him? The same kind of bright, resolute face; only this man’s browner.”
Conscious of a perverse irresponsiveness in his wife, Justin turned to Dosia, who had slipped back into the room to look under the table and chairs for a blue bow that had fallen from her hair. She stood now in the doorway with it in her hand.
“He came up from the South the same day you did last fall, Dosia, he was in that wreck. It must have been a horrible thing.” Justin broke off at the retrospection of the narrative.
“Yes,” said Dosia in a whisper. She leaned against the door for support.