"No," he echoed. "One is never quite content."
Carew crossed his legs, as he settled back in his chair.
"Mayhap. Some of us ought to be, though."
"Yes. You're a lucky fellow, Carew."
"So are you. The trouble is, one never knows when he is well off."
"But we all know when we aren't," Weldon replied succinctly.
Carew's glance was expressive, as it roved about the luxurious room,
with the bed drawn up near the window which looked out, between the
branches of an ancient oak tree, on the blue waters of Table Bay and
on the fringe of shipping by the Docks far to the eastward. Faintly
from the room below came the sound of a piano and of a hushed
girlish voice singing softly to itself.
"It all depends on one's point of view," Carew said, after an
interval. "I am living in a seven-by-nine room in a hotel, and Miss
Mellen is seventy-two miles and three quarters away. Weldon, you are
a lucky dog, if you did but know it."
Weldon shut his teeth for a moment. Then he said quietly,--
"Carew, it is five weeks that I have been in this house. Mr. Dent
and dear little Mother Dent have been angel-good to me. Miss Dent--"
He hesitated.
"Has been an archangel?" Carew supplemented calmly.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289