“Don’t you know that I am a married man?”
For a moment Norman looked him searchingly in the face; then, as if satisfied, replied,
“And what if you are? Are you sure that that fact should prove a barrier to future happiness?”
Owen Hunter in turn now looked Norman searchingly in the face—
“How am I to understand you? That the Norman I once knew, and who I know possessed such high-strung ideas of honor, should express himself thus?”
A slight flush rose to Norman’s brow. Hastily he opened his lips to answer but as quickly checked himself——
“No more, now! This is scarce a proper place to discuss the sort of topics we are drifting into. Without doubt ere we part there will be moments more opportune for thorough discussion. At present I am eager to introduce you into a most charmed and charming circle.”
Owen shook his head.
“I have come to you for quiet, Norman. My heart is sore, and needs rest. I would rather not meet strangers. Besides I have with me a friend whom I wish to introduce to you; also to ask your forbearance for thus imposing on your hospitality as that is what I am about to do. Another storm-tossed soul in need of rest and quiet; one who has drained the bitter-cup of sorrow to its very dregs.” Turning he approached a man who had hitherto stood motionless at some little distance. A man well worth looking at. Tall, well proportioned; dark, heavy beard and clustering hair; with an unspeakable sadness in the deep, gray eyes.
“I claim your hospitality for Milton Nesbit, as well as for myself, and promise that neither shall be too great a burden on your kindness, if you can secure us the welcome of your mother and sisters. I know it is much I ask of you, as our intimacy in the past years can scarcely be called by the name of friendship—but permit me, Mr. Nesbit, this is the friend of my college days, Norman Carlton, of whom I have been telling you.”