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Wharton, Edith, 1862-1937

"The Custom of the Country"


The men sat long over their cigars; but after an interval Undine called
Charles Bowen into the drawing-room to settle some question in dispute
between Clare and Mrs. Fairford, and thus gave Moffatt a chance to be
alone with her husband. Now that their guests had gone she was throbbing
with anxiety to know what had passed between the two; but when Ralph
rejoined her in the drawing-room she continued to keep her eyes on the
fire and twirl her fan listlessly.
"That's an amazing chap," Ralph repeated, looking down at her. "Where
was it you ran across him--out at Apex?"
As he leaned against the chimney-piece, lighting his cigarette, it
struck Undine that he looked less fagged and lifeless than usual, and
she felt more and more sure that something important had happened during
the moment of isolation she had contrived.
She opened and shut her fan reflectively. "Yes--years ago; father had
some business with him and brought him home to dinner one day."
"And you've never seen him since?"
She waited, as if trying to piece her recollections together. "I suppose
I must have; but all that seems so long ago," she said sighing. She had
been given, of late, to such plaintive glances toward her happy girlhood
but Ralph seemed not to notice the allusion.
"Do you know," he exclaimed after a moment, "I don't believe the
fellow's beaten yet."
She looked up quickly. "Don't you?"
"No; and I could see that Bowen didn't either.


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