File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 145 June to November 1922 (1922) (14742718466).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew145various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 145 June to November 1922
Year: 1922 (1920s)
Authors: various
Subjects:
Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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d, and Mrs. Arbuthnot con-tinued to discuss trivialities with tre-mendous savor. Vanished, that inti-mate, terrifying, delightfully abandonedmood! It shortly occurred to ColonelCheniston that he was nothing to her—all his loyalty, his long devotion, hissacrifices. He became instantly still,suspicious, rather gloomily pensive. Nodoubt she despised the simple faith ofan old soldier. No doubt she woulddismiss him directly—forever. He stared stiffly into the fire. . . . Chris! Colonel Cheniston came slowly backto realities. I—I beg your pardon, he said, Imafraid—er—wool-gathering for a mo-ment. Wool-gathering! With me? Mrs. Arbuthnot smiled demurely andlooked away. She wanted to laugh—it was such a preposterous sort of affairfrom beginning to end. Those ridicu-lous flowers! And then that silence!Mrs. Arbuthnot was resolved to berather more charming than ever; afterall, one ought to be made to pay forthe privilege of being not merely senti-mental but selfish; and she was deter-
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HE DINED ALONE THAT NIGHT AT HIS CLUB 622 HARPERS MONTHLY MAGAZINE mined that Colonel Cheniston shouldindeed pay—amply. The temptationwas irresistible. He was explaining thathe found her altered but that he supposedthat was only to be expected. Nothinglasted. She smiled again but delicately.She laid one hand on his arm andsighed. She wondered just how far hemight be adroitly led. Colonel Cheniston coughed. He understood. Still, he had thought— But, my dear Chris!— No, said Colonel Cheniston.Please! But— When a man cares—as I have—ithurts, to talk about trifles. Still, he supposed it was no use goingback to those—those distant things.She had forgotten. Oh, Chris! I—I havenH. It was only afterward, as he sat overhis cigar at the end of a prolonged, per-plexed, solitary dinner at the club, thathe comprehended the significance of thatafternoon. Hed been carried away, ofcourse; it was going to be very awk-ward—very awkward indeed; but whatin the world could he do? And, in

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