_And Boswell's Inn was now known to be only sixteen short motor miles
from town._
II
HONOUR AND THE GIRL
He lay back among the crimson pillows in his big chair, close beside the
fire, with his eyes on the burning logs. A tablet and pen lay in his
lap, and he had written a few paragraphs, but he was listening now to
certain sounds which came from below stairs: voices, laughter,
scurryings up and down the hall and staircase; then the slam of a heavy
door, the tuneful ring of sleighbells in a rapid _decrescendo_ down the
street, and absolute silence within the house. Three times in the last
fifteen minutes before the door closed somebody had looked in upon the
occupant of the big chair to say something like this:
"Oh, Jerry--sorry we couldn't spend Nan's last evening with you. Too bad
this wretched Van Antwerp dance had to come to-night--Christmas Eve,
too. Busy, aren't you, as usual? At work on those sketches of country
life in winter? You clever boy--who but you could make so much out of so
little? Anything we can do for you before we are off? Nan hates to go,
since it's the very last evening of her visit.
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