The Wheel of Life | Page 6

was a minute
before he could summon voice to introduce the cheerful, fresh-coloured
youth on his right hand.
"I've already told Mrs. Bridewell about you, Mr. Trent," he said at last,

"but I'm willing to confess that I haven't told her half the truth."
Gerty met Trent's embarrassed glance with the protecting smile with
which she favoured the young who combined his sex with his
attractions. Then, when he was quite at ease again, she turned to speak
to Roger Adams, for whom, in spite, as she laughingly said, of the
distinction between a bookworm and a butterfly, she was accustomed
to admit a more than ordinary liking.
He was a gaunt, scholarly looking man of forty years, with broad,
singularly bony shoulders, an expression of kindly humour, and a plain,
strong face upon which suffering had left its indelible suggestion of
defeated physical purpose. Nothing about him was impressive, nothing
even arresting to a casual glance, and not even the shooting light from
the keen gray eyes, grown a little wistful from the emotional repression
of the man's life, could account for the cordial appeal that spoke
through so unimposing a figure. As much of his personal history as
Gerty knew seemed to her peculiarly devoid of the interest or the
excitement of adventure; and the only facts of his life which she would
have found deserving the trouble of repeating were that he had married
an impossible woman somewhere in Colorado, and that for ten years he
had lived in New York where he edited The International Review.
"Perry tells me that Mr. Trent has really read Laura's poems," she said
now to Adams with an almost unconscious abandonment of her cynical
manner. "Have you examined him and is it really true?"
"I didn't test him because I hoped the report was false," was Adams'
answer. "He's welcome to the literary hash, but I want to keep the
caviar for myself."
"Read them!" exclaimed Trent eagerly, while his blue eyes ran entirely
to sparkles. "Why, I've learned them every one by heart."
"Then she'll let you in," responded Gerty reassuringly, "there's no doubt
whatever of your welcome."
"But there is of mine," said Perry gravely, "so I guess I'd better quit."

He made a movement to turn away, but Gerty placing her gloved hand
on his arm, detained him by a reproachful look.
"That reminds me of the mischief you have done to-day," she said. "I
met Arnold Kemper as I left the house, and when I asked him to come
with me what do you suppose was the excuse he gave?"
"The dentist or a twinge of rheumatism?" suggested Adams gravely.
"Neither." Her voice rose indignantly, and she enforced her reprimand
by a light stroke on Perry's sleeve. "He actually said that Perry had told
him Laura wasn't pretty."
"Well, I take back my words and eat 'em, too," cried Perry.
He broke away in affected terror before Trent's angry eyes, while Gerty
gave a joyful little exclamation and waved her hand toward one of the
lower windows in the house before which they stood. The head of a
woman, framed in brown creepers, appeared there for an instant, and
then, almost before Trent had caught a glimpse of the small dark eager
figure, melted again into the warm firelight of the interior. A moment
later the outer door opened quickly, and Laura stood there with
impulsive outstretched hands and the cordial smile which was her
priceless inheritance from a Southern mother.
"I knew that you were there even before I looked out of the window,"
she exclaimed to Gerty, in what Adams had once called her "Creole
voice." Then she paused, laughing happily, as she looked, with her
animated glance, from Gerty to Trent and from Trent to Adams. To the
younger man, full of his enthusiasm and his ignorance, the physical
details of her appearance seemed suddenly of no larger significance
than the pale bronze gown she wore or the old coffee-coloured lace
knotted upon her bosom in some personal caprice of dress. What she
gave to him as she stood there, looking from Adams to himself with her
ardent friendly glance, was an impression of radiant energy, of
abundant life.
She turned back after the first greeting, leading the way into the

pleasant firelit room, where a white haired old gentleman with an
interesting blanched face rose to receive them.
"I have just proved to Mr. Wilberforce that I could 'feel' you coming,"
said Laura with a smile as she unfastened Gerty's furs.
"And I have argued that she could quite as well surmise it," returned
Mr. Wilberforce, as he fell back into his chair before the wood fire.
"Well, you may know in either way that my coming may be counted
on," said Gerty, "for I