Galbraith's daughter? And even though no rumors of the affair reached
Cynthia at all, Robert Morton was old enough to sense the hazard of
introducing one woman to another.
Well, the risk must be taken; there was no escape from it now. Even as
these disquieting imaginings chased themselves through his mind, the
car stopped before the door and Roger Galbraith, who had come to meet
the guests, entered at the gate. No courtesy that would add to their
comfort had been omitted. There were rugs and extra wraps, and a drive
along the shore road had been planned as an added pleasure.
Willie, his back actually turned on his beloved workshop, was in the
seventh heaven.
"What you settin' on the peaked edge of the seat for, Celestina?" he
asked when once they were in the automobile. "The thing ain't goin' to
blow up or break down. Let your whole heft sink into the cushions an'
enjoy yourself. 'Tain't often you get the chance to go a-ridin'."
His joy in the novel experience was as unalloyed and as transparent as
a child's.
"My soul!" he ejaculated as the vehicle turned at last into the broad
avenue leading to the Galbraith estate.
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