How far would this fellow dare to go, he wondered? What
motive inspired him thus to pose before his friends, and openly
goad his victim under the cloak of modesty and gratitude? Was he
enhancing his triumph by jeering at the husband of whom he had
made a fool? He dropped his eyes to hide the fury in them.
"I want to give you a little remembrance of my own." Anthony was
speaking directly to him. "It isn't much, but it means a good deal
to me, and I hope it will have some sort of personal association
for you, Mr. Cortlandt." He drew from his pocket a plush case and
took from it a very handsome thin Swiss watch with the letters "S.
C." artfully enamelled upon the back. Runnels, who knew the local
shops, wondered how it had been procured in Panama. The others
openly expressed their admiration.
Cortlandt accepted the gift mechanically; then, as it touched his
flesh, a sudden color mounted to his cheeks, only to recede,
leaving them bloodless again. He stared at it uncertainly, then
looked up and ran his eyes slowly around the table. They came to
rest at last upon the broad frame of the giver, crowned with its
handsome, sun-tanned face and close-cropped shock of yellow hair.
Anthony was all that he was not--the very embodiment of youth,
vigor, and confidence, while he was prematurely aged, worn, and
impotent.
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