Jack didn't
want any company--certainly not Biffy--most assuredly not any of
the young fellows who had asked him about Gilbert's failure. What
he wanted was to be left alone until eleven o'clock, during which
time he would get something to eat.
Dinner over, he buried himself in a chair in the library and let
his mind roam. Angry as he was, Ruth's image still haunted him.
How pretty she was--how gracefully she moved her arm as she
lifted the cups; and the way the hair waved about her temples; and
the tones of her voice--and dear Peter, so kind and thoughtful of
him, so careful that he should be introduced to this and that
person; and Miss Felicia! What a great lady she was; and yet he
was not a bit afraid of her. What would they all think of him when
the facts of his uncle's crime came to their ears, and they MUST
come sooner or later. What, too, would Peter think of him for
breaking out on his uncle, which he firmly intended to do as soon
as the hour hand reached eleven? Nor would he mince his words.
That an outrage of this kind could be committed on an unsuspecting
man was bad enough, but that it should have taken place in his own
uncle's office, bringing into disrepute his father's and his own
good name, was something he could not tolerate for a moment.
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