“Because John has a horror of hysterics,” she stated. “He has often told you that he never married because he dreads a tyranny of tears,” and going outside she shut the door with a firm hand.
Anne stared at the closed door for a full minute, then walked unsteadily over to the couch and threw herself face downward among the sofa pillows. Not until then did her clenched hands relax.
“Uncle John, how could you? How could you?” she gasped and her voice choked on a sob.
The grandfather clock in the big entrance hall to Ten Acres was chiming eleven when Mrs. Meredith pulled aside the portières in front of the library door and crossed its threshold. At her almost noiseless entrance a man standing with his back to the huge stone fireplace, which stretched across one end of the large room, glanced up and made a hasty step forward. With characteristic directness Mrs. Meredith answered his inquisitive look.
“Anne has consented to marry David Curtis,” she announced and stopped abruptly, her hasty speech checked by Sam Hollister’s upraised hand.
“Doctor Curtis is here,” he said, and indicated a lounging chair upon their right.
Mrs. Meredith faced David Curtis as he rose and bowed. In the brief silence she scanned him from head to foot. What she saw was a tall, well-set-up man, broad-shouldered and with an unmistakable air of breeding. Ill health had set its mark on his face, which was pale and furrowed beyond his years, but the features were fine, the forehead broad, and the sightless eyes a deep blue under their long lashes.
The lawyer broke the pause. “Doctor Curtis has just informed me that he cannot accede to Mr. Meredith’s wishes regarding a marriage with your daughter,” he said. “He will tell you his reasons.”
Mrs. Meredith’s face paled with anger. Hollister, watching her, felt a glow of reluctant admiration as he saw her instantly regain her self-control.
“Your reasons, Doctor Curtis?” she asked suavely. “Pray keep your seat. I will sit on the sofa by Mr. Hollister.”