Pride kept Hiram Endicott still in the ranks of his profession, while the acquired taste of money-making filled up the long days darkened by the loss of wife and daughter.
When Hathorn, replying to her summons with an anxious brow, entered the room where the beautiful architect of his fortunes awaited him, he found a strange serenity brooding upon her face.
With a brief greeting, he plunged in media res. His report was quickly made.
The unmoved listener quietly remarked, “Hold my account out of all future deals in Sugar. Do nothing whatever. I may go away for a few weeks. I do not care for this little flurry. I will stand out—and—the Judge will keep that line safe.”
The quiet decision of Elaine Willoughby’s orders gave the quietus to the young man’s eager plans for a great coup.
Watching her craftily from the corners of his eyes, he lightly turned to the proposed visit of that interesting Montana capitalist, Harold Vreeland.
“Bring him to see me, by all means!” the Lady of Lakemere cordially said. “He seems to have caught a bit of the breeziness of the pines.”
And then, when Hiram Endicott briskly entered, Mr. Frederick Hathorn fled away to the renewed struggles of the Exchange.
The quondam “only broker” was, however, not deceived. He raced on through the excited street to cover the firm’s large line of the rapidly advancing stock, and reasoned quickly as he went.
In his heart there was the conviction of a coming change in the generous heart which had been so long open to him.