"Drop in at the office next time you're in town, Cosden," said Thatcher; "we'll talk over Consolidated Machinery and the Bermuda Trolleys."
"I'm thinking of getting out of business altogether, to devote myself to art," was Cosden's enigmatical reply; but the expression on Edith Stevens' face showed that at least she understood.
XXII
Nearly a month passed after their return to Boston before Huntington and Cosden really saw anything of each other. They met casually, they telephoned, they lunched in company with other friends at down-town clubs, but neither one suggested an old-time getting together, and each felt relieved by the omission of the other. Yet the reason each man held for this feeling, had he openly acknowledged it, was as opposed to the other's as were the characteristics of the men themselves. Huntington craved nothing so much as an opportunity to be alone, that he might review the extraordinary happenings of the past few weeks and thus fortify himself sufficiently to prevent any lapse from what he knew to be his duty; Cosden required a return to his usual feverish business activity in order to digest his new ideas. Huntington remembered the wonderful sunshine and the fragrant flowers, in the midst of which he always saw a sweetly serious face peering out at him in spite of his efforts at banishment; Cosden forgot everything except that he had been shown up to himself in a light which demanded immediate and drastic consideration. To both men the weeks just ended, including those which had elapsed since their return had been epoch-making. But self-confidence revives with time, however great a shock it may receive and when Huntington finally invited his friend to dine with him Cosden found himself quite ready to accept.
This first meeting was more formal than any which had taken place during the many years of their acquaintance. Cosden often spoke of the relief it was to him to be permitted to drop in at his friend's house in such an intimate way,—without "fussing up," as he expressed it; now he appeared in his dinner-coat, dressed as immaculately as Huntington himself always was. His manner was more contained, and even though it was evident that his restraint was studied Huntington was interested and pleased to observe that as yet, at all events, the influence of the Bermuda experiences made itself felt.
"Well, Monty," Cosden said as he lifted his cocktail-glass, "I'm glad to be aboard again. I've been associating a good deal lately with a fellow named Conover Cosden, and I must admit he bores me. Let's have this and then a little dividend just for good luck.—By the way, I saw you at the Symphony last night."
"At the Symphony?" Huntington echoed surprised. "You don't mean to say—"
"Oh, yes, I do!" he laughed rather consciously. "Not that it means much to me yet, but I've reached a point where I can call it an orchestra instead of a band, anyway. Mighty fine concert, wasn't it? I know I'm right, for I read the criticism in the paper this morning."