It was a golden moment. He had won a notable victory against greed and
craft and highly trained intelligence. And yet, a year later, he was
to recall this recent past with envy and regret; for in the meantime
he was to fight another battle against the same forces, and others
quite as deeply rooted in human nature. But he was to fight upon a new
field, and with different weapons, and with results which could not be
foreseen.
But no premonition of impending struggle disturbed Mr. French's
pleasant reverie; it was broken in a much more agreeable manner by the
arrival of a visitor, who was admitted by Judson, Mr. French's man.
The visitor was a handsome, clear-eyed, fair-haired woman, of thirty
or thereabouts, accompanied by another and a plainer woman, evidently
a maid or companion. The lady was dressed with the most expensive
simplicity, and her graceful movements were attended by the rustle of
unseen silks. In passing her upon the street, any man under ninety
would have looked at her three times, the first glance instinctively
recognising an attractive woman, the second ranking her as a lady;
while the third, had there been time and opportunity, would have been
the long, lingering look of respectful or regretful admiration.
"How is Mr. French, Judson?" she inquired, without dissembling her
anxiety.
"He's much better, Mrs. Jerviss, thank you, ma'am."
"I'm very glad to hear it; and how is Phil?"
"Quite bright, ma'am, you'd hardly know that he'd been sick.
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