So here I
am, and there he is."
"Where?"
"Standing over there by that wire thing like a fence next the street."
The doctor looked over as she motioned. He soon recognized the slender
figure, the indolent attitude of Tom Appleton, the blase young man whom he
was so accustomed to meeting at billiard-tables, in clubs, or hotels. A
tolerant, amiable expression saved the youth's smooth, handsome face from
vacuity. He was dressed with careful nicety.
"But," said Haslam, "a man about to take leave of this life doesn't
ordinarily waste time going to the opera."
"Why not? He probably came here to think. One can do that well at the
opera."
"Tom Appleton think?--I beg pardon again. But see, he's talking to a girl
now, Miss Estabrook, of North Broad Street. His smile to her is not the
kind of a smile that commonly lights up a man's face on his way to death."
"You don't suppose he would conceal his intentions from people by putting
on his usual gaiety, do you?" she replied, ironically; adding, rather
stiffly, "He has at least sufficiently good manners to do that, if not
sufficient duplicity.
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