She had but little compunction over his self-sacrificing mood. It
was perfectly clear that by quiet, manly devotion he proposed to help
"time heal the wound" made by that "idiot" at Santa Barbara, and
she that she could gradually reveal to him so much improvement that
equanimity and at last hope would find a place in his mind.
They parted Monday morning with a brief, strong pressure of
hands, which Graydon felt conveyed volumes of sympathy and mutual
understanding. She had said that he could write to her, and he found
he had so much to say that he had to put a strong constraint upon
himself.
Mr. Muir had watched them curiously during his stay in the mountains,
and felt that something had occurred which he could not fathom.
Graydon's manner at parting and since, during business hours, had
confirmed this impression. He was almost as grave and reticent as the
banker himself, and the latter began to chafe and grow irritable over
the problem which he was bent on seeing solved in but one way. He
looked askance and discontentedly at Graydon during dinner in the
evening. When they were alone he was fidgety and rather curt in his
remarks. At last he burst out, "Confound it! What has happened between
you and Madge?"
"She has refused me, that's all," was the quiet reply.
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