Титан

A Fateful Interlude

           Hewaslikeavastopenwindowoutofwhichshewaslookinguponanalmostillimitablelandscape.

           "No,sir,"shereplied,droppingherslim,firm,whitehand,holdingablacklead-pencilrestfullyonhernotebook.Shesmiledquiteinnocentlybecauseshewaspleased.

           "Ithoughtnot,"hesaid,"andyetyou’reAmericanenough."

           "Idon’tknowhowitis,"shesaid,quitesolemnly."IhaveabrotherwhoisquiteasAmericanasIam.Wedon’teitherofuslooklikeourfatherormother."

           "Whatdoesyourbrotherdo?"heasked,indifferently.

           "He’soneoftheweighersatArneel&Co.Heexpectstobeamanagersometime."Shesmiled.

           Cowperwoodlookedatherspeculatively,andafteramomentaryreturnglanceshedroppedhereyes.Slowly,inspiteofherself,atelltaleflushroseandmantledherbrowncheeks.Italwaysdidwhenhelookedather.

           "TakethislettertoGeneralVanSickle,"hebegan,onthisoccasionquitehelpfully,andinafewminutesshehadrecovered.ShecouldnotbenearCowperwoodforlongatatime,however,withoutbeingstirredbyafeelingwhichwasnotofherownwilling.Hefascinatedandsuffusedherwithadullfire.Shesometimeswonderedwhetheramansoremarkablewouldeverbeinterestedinagirllikeher.

           Theendofthisessentialinterest,ofcourse,wastheeventualassumptionofAntoinette.

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