She had always given him that same dark red flower after he
had turned into manhood. "It is your kind," she said; "I
understand."
He arranged the tray for her, pouring out her tea, buttering the
rolls. Then he forced himself to eat his supper as usual. From
old candlesticks on the table a silver radiance was shed on the
massive silver, on the gem-like glass. Candelabra on the
mantelpiece and the sideboard lighted up the browned oak of the
walls.
He left the table at last, giving and hearing a good night. The
servants efficiently ended their duties and put out the lights. In
the front hall lamps were left burning; there were lamps and
candles in the library. He went off to a room on the ground floor
in one ell of the house; it was his sitting room, smoking room, the
lounging place of his friends. In one corner stood a large desk,
holding old family papers; here also were articles that he himself
had lately been engaged on--topics relating to scientific
agriculture, soils, and stock-raising. It was the road by which
some of the country gentlemen who had been his forefathers passed
into a larger life of practical affairs--going into the Legislature
of the state or into the Senate; and he had thought of this as a
future for himself. For an hour or two he looked through family
papers.
Then he put them aside and squarely faced the meaning of the day.
His thoughts traversed the whole track of Dent's life--one straight
track upward.
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