So he gave himself up to the will of his betrothed, and
tried to feel an interest in the pictures she seemed to admire so
much.
They had been so engaged for over twenty minutes, Whitford beginning
to grow dull and heavy as the exhilaration of wine died out, and
less responsive to the efforts made by Blanche to keep him
interested, when Lovering came into the library, and, seeing them,
said, with a spur of banter in his voice:
"Come, come, this will never do! You're a fine fellow, Whitford, and
I don't wonder that Miss Birtwell tolerates you, but monopoly is not
the word to-night. I claim the privilege of a guest and a word or
two with our fair hostess."
And he held out his arm to Blanche, who had risen from the table.
She could do no less than take it. He drew her from the room. As
they passed out of the door Blanche cast a look back at Whitford.
Those who saw it were struck by its deep concern.
"Confound his impudence!" ejaculated Ellis Whitford as he saw
Blanche vanish through the library door. Rising from the table he
stood with an irresolute air, then went slowly from the apartment
and mingled with the company, moving about in an aimless kind of
way, until he drifted again into the supper-room, the tables of
which the waiters were constantly replenishing, and toward which a
stream of guests still flowed. The company here was noisier now than
when he left it a short time before.
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