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CHAPTER XXIII
THE FILIAL MARTYR
Miss Wildmere appeared in one of her most brilliant moods that
evening. There was a dash of excitement, almost recklessness, in her
gray eyes. She and Mr. Arnault had been deputed to lead the German,
but she took Graydon out so often as to produce in Mr. Arnault's eyes
an expression which the observant Mr. Wildmere did not like at all. He
had just returned from dreary, half-deserted Wall Street, which was
as dead and hopeless as only that region of galvanic life can be at
times. He had neither sold nor bought stock, but had moused around,
with the skill of an old _habitue_, for information concerning the
eligibility of the two men who were seeking his daughter's hand. In
the midsummer dullness and holiday stagnation the impending operation
in the Catskills was the only one that promised anything whatever. He
became more fully satisfied that Arnault's firm was prospering. They
had been persistent "bears" on a market that had long been declining,
and had reaped a golden harvest from the miseries of others. On the
other hand, he learned that Henry Muir was barely holding his own, and
that he had strained his credit dangerously to do this. He knew about
the enterprise which had absorbed the banker's capital, and while
he believed it would respond promptly to the returning flow of the
financial tide, it now seemed stranded among more hopeless ventures.
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