" He stopped, fired by his own logic. The
future might be Chilcote's but the present was his; and this
present--with its immeasurable possibilities
--had been rescued from catastrophe. "No," he said, again.
"When you get your proof perhaps we'll have another talk; but
till then--"
"Till then?" She looked up quickly; but almost at once her
question died away.
The door had opened, and the servant who had admitted Loder
stood in the opening.
"Dinner is served!" he announced, in his deferential voice.
XXIII
And Loder dined with Lillian Astrupp. We live in an age when
society expects, even exacts, much. He dined, not through
bravado and not through cowardice, but because it seemed the
obvious, the only thing to do. To him a scene of any
description was distasteful; to Lillian it was unknown. In
her world people loved or hated, were spiteful or foolish,
were even quixotic or dishonorable, but they seldom made
scenes. Loder tacitly saw and tacitly accepted this.
Possibly they ate extremely little during the course of the
dinner, and talked extraordinarily much on subjects that
interested neither; but the main point at least was gained.
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