No, it was rather a kind of vague regret for the life
which had so definitely ended, the feeling which the Romans called
_desiderium_ and the Greeks _pathos_. The defection of George
Pennicut was a small thing in itself, but it meant the removal of
another landmark.
"We had some bully good times in that studio," he said.
The words were a requiem.
The first person whom he met in this great house, in the kingdom of
which he was to be king-consort, was a butler of incredible
stateliness. This was none other than Steve's friend Keggs. But round
the outlying portions of this official he had perceived, as the door
opened, a section of a woman in a brown dress.
The butler moving to one side, he found himself confronting Mrs. Lora
Delane Porter.
If other things in Kirk's world had changed, time had wrought in vain
upon the great authoress. She looked as masterful, as unyielding, and
as efficient as she had looked at the time of his departure. She took
his hand without emotion and inspected him keenly.
"You are thinner," she remarked.
"I said that, Aunt Lora," said Ruth. "Poor boy, he's a skeleton."
"You are not so robust."
"I have been ill."
Ruth interposed.
"He's had fever, Aunt Lora, and you are not to tease him."
"I should be the last person to tease any man. What sort of fever?"
"I think it was a blend of all sorts," replied Kirk.
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