"
The nobleman frankly abandoned his efforts to maintain
an undisturbed front. "You--are--anxious," he repeated,
frowning in displeased wonderment.
"Why yes--why not?" demanded Thorpe, with a sudden growl
in his voice. As he covered the handsome Viscount
with his heavy, intent gaze, impulses of wrath stirred
within him. Why should this fop of a lordling put on
this air of contemptuous incredulity?" What is there
so amazing about that? Why shouldn't I be anxious?"
The peremptory harshness of his manner, and the scowl
on his big, lowering face, brought a sort of self-
control back to the other. He shrugged his shoulders,
with an attempt at nonchalance. "Why not indeed!"
he said, as lightly as he could. With hands on knees,
he bent forward as if to rise. "But perhaps I'd better
come in another day," he suggested, tentatively.
"I'm interrupting you."
"No--sit still," Thorpe bade him, and then, with chin
settled more determinedly than ever in his cravat,
sat eyeing him in a long, dour silence.
Lord Plowden found it impossible to obtain from this massive,
apathetic visage any clue to the thoughts working behind it.
He chanced to recall the time when he had discussed
with Thorpe the meaning and values of this inscrutable
expression which the latter's countenance could assume.
It had seemed interesting and even admirable to him
then--but then he had not foreseen the possibility that he
himself might some day confront its adamantine barrier
with a sinking heart.
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