"Has Dick been talking to you about himself?" asked Miss Sherwood.
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Larry gave the substance of the autobiography which Dick had
volunteered.
"Part of that is more than the truth, part less than the truth," Miss
Sherwood remarked. "But this morning we were to have a real talk about
your affairs, and let's get to the subject."
She had motioned him to a chair beside the quaint old desk, and they
were now sitting face to face. Isabel Sherwood looked as much the
finished patrician as on the evening before, and with that easy,
whimsical humor and the direct manner of the person who is sure of
herself; and in the sober, disillusioning daylight she had no less of
beauty than had seemed hers in the softer lighting of their first
meeting. The clear, fresh face with its violet-blue eyes was gazing at
him intently. Larry realized that she was looking into the very soul
of him, and he sat silent during this estimate which he recognized she
had the right to make.
"Mr. Hunt has written me the main facts about you, certainly the
worst," she said finally. "You need tell me nothing further, if you
prefer not to do so; but it might be helpful if I knew more of the
details."
Larry felt that there was no information he was not willing to give
this clear-eyed, charming woman; and so he told her all that had
happened since his return from Sing Sing, including his falling in
love with Maggie, the nature of their conflict, her departure into the
ways of her ambition.
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