"There
was a time when I didn't believe you could. Which shows that even wise
men err. Material factors loom bigger and bigger on your horizon, don't
they? Don't let 'em obscure everything though, Thompson. That's a
blunder plenty of smart men make. Well, we've progressed since Lone
Moose days, haven't we--the four of us that foregathered there that last
summer?"
Thompson smiled. He liked to hear Carr in a philosophic vein. And their
talk ran thence for an hour. At the end of which time Sophie came home.
She walked into the room, shook hands with Thompson, flung her coat,
hat, and furs across a chair, and drew another up to the crackling fire.
Outside, the long Northern twilight was deepening. Carr rose and
switched on a cluster of lights in frosted globes. In the mellow glow he
resumed his seat, and his glance came to rest upon his daughter with a
curious fixity, as if he subtly divined something that troubled her.
"What is it?" he asked, after a minute of unbroken silence. "You look--"
"Out of sorts?" she interrupted. "Showing up poorly as a hostess?"
Her look included Thompson with a faint, impersonal smile, and her gaze
went back to the fire. Sam Carr held his peace, toying with the
long-stemmed glass in his hand.
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