He halted some paces off and glared from his wife's diaphanous costume to
the workman in his rough clothes and flannel shirt. As the avenue sloped
abruptly he was at a disadvantage, and it was all he could do to keep from
grinding his teeth.
Alexina went forward and placed her hand within his arm, giving it a
warning pressure.
"Now, at last, you and Mr. Kirkpatrick will meet. You've always so snubbed
our little attempts to understand some of the things that men know all
about, that you've never met any of our teachers. But no one has taught, me
as much as Mr. Kirkpatrick, so shake hands at once and be friends."
Mortimer extended a straight and wooden hand. Kirkpatrick touched, and
dropped it as if lie feared contamination, Mortimer ascended a few steps
and from this point of vantage looked down his unmitigated disapproval and
contempt. Kirkpatrick would have given his hopes of the speedy demise of
capitalism if Alexina had picked up her periwinkle skirts and fled up the
avenue. His big hands clenched, he thrust out his pugnacious jaw, his hard
little eyes glowed like poisonous coals. Mortimer, to do him justice, was
entirely without physical cowardice, and continued to look like a stage
lord dismissing a varlet.
Kirkpatrick caught Alexina's imploring eyes and turned abruptly on his
heel, "So long," he said. "Guess I'd better be getting on."
IV
"I won't have that fellow in the house," said Mortimer, in a low tone of
white fury.
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