"I don't believe in crossing a bridge till I get
to it," she declared, when, on the point of his departure,
he last raised the question, and it had to be left at that.
He took with him some small books she had tied in a parcel,
and told him to read. She had spoken so confidently
of their illuminating value, that he found himself quite
committed to their perusal--and almost to their endorsement.
He had thought during the day of running down to Newmarket,
for the Cesarewitch was to be run on the morrow,
and someone had told him that that was worth seeing.
By the time he reached his hotel, however, an entirely
new project had possessed his mind. He packed his bag,
and took the next train for home.
CHAPTER XXV
"I DIDN'T ask your father, after all," was one of the things
that Thorpe said to his wife next day. He had the manner
of one announcing a concession, albeit in an affable spirit,
and she received the remark with a scant, silent nod.
Two days later he recurred to the subject. They were
again upon the terrace, where he had been lounging in an
easy-chair most of the day, with the books his sister
had bid him read on a table beside him. He had glanced
through some of them in a desultory fashion, cutting pages
at random here and there, but for the most part he
had looked straight before him at the broad landscape,
mellowing now into soft browns and yellows under the mild,
vague October sun.
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