The Pierce motor car, very large, very quietly complete and elegant,
was waiting near at hand, and in it a prematurely elderly, subdued
nondescript of a woman, and a pretty, sensitive, sensuous type of
brunette, almost too well dressed. To Mrs. Pierce and Miss Kathleen
Pierce, Hal was duly presented, and by them graciously received. As
he stood there, bareheaded, gracefully at ease, smiling up into the
interested faces of the two ladies, Dr. Surtaine, passing to his own
car to await him, looked back and was warmed with pride and gratitude
for this further honorarium to his capital stock of happiness, for he
saw already in his son the assurance of social success, and, on the
hour's reckoning, summed him up. And since we are to see much of
Harrington Surtaine, in evil chance and good, and see him at times
through the eyes of that shrewd observer and capitalizer of men, his
father, the summing-up is worth our present heed, for all that it is
to be considerably modified in the mind of its proponent, as events
develop. This, then, is Dr. Surtaine's estimate of his beloved
"Boyee," after a year of separation.
"A little bit of a prig. A little bit of a cub. Just a _little_ mite
of a snob, too, maybe. But the right, solid, clean stuff underneath.
And my son, thank God! _My_ son all through."
CHAPTER III
ESME
Hal saw her first, vivid against the lifeless gray of the cement wall,
as he turned away from the Pierce car. A little apart from the human
current she stood, still and expectant. As if to point her out as the
chosen of gods and men, the questing sun, bursting in triumph through a
cloud-rift, sent a long shaft of gold to encompass and irradiate her. To
the end, whether with aching heart or glad, Hal was to see her thus, in
flashing, recurrent visions; a slight, poised figure, all gracious
curves and tender consonances, with a cluster of the trailing arbutus,
that first-love of the springtide, clinging at her breast. The breeze
bore to him the faint, wild, appealing fragrance which is the very
breath and soul of the blossom's fairy-pink.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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