had precipitated this rebellion, this strife in which
he was doomed. He would have hotly repudiated
the insinuation that he was growing old; he would
still, perhaps, have fought the man who said that he
was failing. And such a statement would be beside
the fact; no perceptible decay had yet set up at the
heart of his manhood. But the inception of that
process was imminent; the sloth consequent upon
Lettice's money was hastening it.

Lettice's youthful aspect, persisting in the face of
her approaching motherhood, disconcerted him; it
was inappropriate. Her freshly-flushed, rounded
cheeks beside his own weather-beaten, lean jaw offered
a comment too obvious for enjoyment. He
resented, from his own depleting store, her unspent
sum of days. It created in him an animosity which,
as he turned from the window, noted almost with
relief faint lines about her mouth, the sinking of her
color.

She was sitting with her eyes shut, the sewing
neglected in her lap, and did not see Mrs. Caley
standing in the doorway. The woman's gaze lingered
for a moment, with an unmasked, burning contempt,
upon Gordon Makimmon, then swept on to
the girl.

"Lettice!" she exclaimed, in a species of exasperated
concern, "don't you know better than to sit
up to all hours?"

[[170]]

p169 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p170w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p171

v?