It was unlikely that he would be called
upon to spend another hot season in the scorching Plains. Steady
perseverance and indubitable talent had made their mark. But success
was dust and ashes to him now. He did not greatly care if he went or
stayed.
That Daisy was well again, or on the high-road to recovery, he knew;
but he had not received a single letter from her since her illness.
Jim's epistles were very few and far between, but Nick had maintained
a fairly regular correspondence with him till a few weeks back when it
had unaccountably lapsed. But then Nick had done unaccountable things
before, and he did not set down his silence to inconstancy. He was
probably making prodigious efforts on his behalf, and Will awaited
every mail with an eagerness he could not quite suppress, which turned
invariably, however, into a sick sense of disappointment.
That Daisy would ever return to him now he did not for an instant
believe, but there remained the chance--the slender, infinitesimal
chance--that she might ask him to go to her. More than a flying visit
she would know he could not manage. His work was his living, and
hers. But so much Nick's powers of persuasion might one day accomplish
though he would not allow himself to contemplate the possibility,
while week by week the chance dwindled.
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