Youth
and fire, dreams and passion....
At last he remembered why he was here. He thought of possible purchasers.
He knew so many dealers, but he knew, too, that the war had played the
devil with them as with everyone else. Still, he thought of several who
would find it hard to resist the temptation. He would see them to-morrow,
one by one, and get them bidding, haggling. Roger frowned disgustedly.
No help for it, though, and it was a relief. It would bring a truce in his
house for a time.
* * * * *
But the truce was brief.
On the afternoon when he sold his collection Roger came home all out of
sorts. He had been forced to haggle long; it had been a mean inglorious
day; one of the brightest paths in his life had ended in a pigstie. But at
least he had bought some peace in his home! Women, women, women! He shut
the front door with a slam and went up to his room for a little rest, a
little of what he had paid for! On the stairs he passed young Betsy, and he
startled the girl by the sudden glare of reproach he bestowed upon her.
Savagely he told himself he was no "feminist" that night!
The brief talk he had with Edith was far from reassuring. With no Deborah
there to wound her pride, Edith quickly showed herself friendly to her
father; but when he advised her to keep her nurse, she at once refused to
consider it.
"I want you to," he persisted, with an anxious note in his voice.
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