Rich Man, Poor Man

gaining strength, Beeston was up and out of doors. Overwork was the man's chief trouble; his vitality literally had burned him out. What he needed was rest, much rest. Every afternoon, tucked up in

he could tell him nothing; nor did he ever probe her about her own experiences. The past, it seemed, he had accepted as a closed book. It was as if he had resolved to rouse no sleeping dogs, but meant to take out of what was left

he'd rumb

" she'd

chatted, her face radiant, the slim figure in its furs, its jaunty little toque, a charming, animated picture. Indeed, with David's gentleness, with her grandfath

not gone with them. The Lloyds having closed their town house, transferring themselves to their country place

indly turn; and this, the cause of his cynical amusement, seemed to have been no less than an effort to reward Mrs. Tilney and Mr. Mapleson for what they'd done for Bab. To his amaze

y's, she had noted he had grown still more queer. Why was it? What had happened that made them all so queer? Why the last time she

still speaking of Mr. Mapleson. "The lawyers

," she demanded, "what's wrong? Why Is it that Mr. Va

brows thickening, he scowled. But Bab now had forgotten caution in her determina

y. "What difference is it t

t?" Bab answered deliberately; and Beeston, from u

eyes lowering. "That's how the land lies,

he consequences of what she said, she added: "So would you have lik

significant Again his eyes lit darkly

s it, is it?" At his brusqueness, the blunt, brutal frankness of his scorn, Bab felt all the bloo

u don't know, I suppose, why that fellow's living in that house? Eh? Well, I'll tell you why. His father set out to trim me and I turned the tab

happened, w

" said Bab. "You

but Beeston, with a scorn

If you do," he sneered, "then why didn't he do it when he had

y. Her face white, Bab heard him in wonder. Curiously she had no answer. When she tried sh

ome!" he

self had said as much in the days when she had been only Bab, Mrs. Tilney's unknown ward. The words, the phrases of that very thought kept re

not that sort. She didn't care who said it, Varick was not a vulgar fortune hunter. Yes, but if he

eyes peering from beneath their heavy lids, he was slouched down in his seat, staring straight ahead of him. What visions stalked before him, wraiths of his dead, stormy past, Bab

for herself or for her money. She was still thinking of it, mulling it all over and over in her mind, when the motor rolled up t

?" her grandfa

the stairs and, still on the footman's arm, disappear indoors. Then when he was gone, when the door was shut and the se

rs. Tilney'