His face was very
pale, his eyes clear and bright, his hair trimmed in its old close
fashion, his mouth grimly set. Although he was very thin the lines in
his cheeks were less pronounced. He looked years older, of course,
and the life he had led had set its indelible seal upon him, but he
was Langdon Masters again nevertheless.
His eyes dilated when he saw her, but he smiled whimsically.
"So you want what is left of this battered old husk, Madeleine?" he
asked. "You in the prime of your beauty and your youth! Better think
it over."
She smiled a little, too.
"Do you mean that?"
"No, I don't! Come here! Come here!"
XLVII
In the winter of 1878-79 Mrs. Ballinger gave a luncheon in honor of
Mrs. McLane, who had arrived in San Francisco the day before after a
long visit in Europe. The city was growing toward the west, but
Ballinger House still looked like an outpost on its solitary hill and
was almost surrounded by a grove of eucalyptus trees.
Mrs. Abbott grumbled as she always did at the long journey, skirting
far higher hills, and through sand dunes still unsubdued by man and
awaiting the first dry wind of summer to transform themselves into
clouds of dust. But a sand storm would not have kept her away. The
others invited were her daughter-in-law, who had met Mrs.
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