So, as has been stated, the impression created upon her
mind by Elden's proper conduct was one of vague annoyance that proper
conduct should be found in one not reared within the charmed circle of
the _elite_.
After dinner they sat in the lounge-room, and Conward beguiled the time
with stories of sudden wealth which had been practically forced upon
men who were now regarded as the business frame-work of the country.
As these worthies strolled through the richly furnished room leisurely
smoking their after-dinner cigars Conward would make a swift summary of
their rise from liveryman, cow puncher, clerk or labourer to their
present affluence, occasionally appealing to Dave to corroborate his
statements. It was particularly distasteful to Elden to be obliged to
add his word to Conward's in such matters, for although Conward
carefully refrained from making any direct reference to Mrs. Hardy's
purchase, the inference that great profits would accrue to her
therefrom was very obvious.
A tall man passed by with a richly gowned woman on his arm. "Jim
Farley," Conward explained. "Plasterer by trade. Began dabbling in
real estate. Now rated as a millionaire."
Conward paused to light another cigarette. "Interesting case,
Farley's," he continued, after a pause. "You remember it, Elden?"
Dave nodded. "Farley blew in here from Scotland, or some such place,
looking for work with his trowel. That was about the time of the
beginning of things, as things are reckoned here.
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