How good it felt to be so gay. No
solemn thoughts nor questionings, just these dusky glittering beauties
here, deep soft gleams of color, each with its suggestion of memories for
Roger, a procession of adventures reaching back into his life. He smiled
and lay in silence watching, until at last she bent over him, kissed him
softly, breathed a good-night and went out of the room. Roger followed her
with his glance. He knew he would never see her again. How graceful of her
to go like that.
He lay there thinking about her. In her large blue limousine he saw his gay
young daughter speeding up the Avenue, the purple gleaming pavement
reflecting studded lines of lights. And he thought he could see her smiling
still. He recalled scattered fragments of her life--the first luxurious
little menage, and the second. How many more would there be? She was only
in her twenties still. Uneasily he tried to see into the years ahead for
her, and he thought he saw a lonely old age, childless, loveless, cynical,
hard. But this fear soon fell from his mind. No, whatever happened, she
would do it gracefully, an artist always, to the end. He sighed and gave up
the effort. For he could not think of Laura as old, nor could he think of
her any more as being a part of his family.
Edith came to him several times, and there was something in her face which
gave him sharp forebodings. Making a great effort he tried to talk to her
clearly.
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