She listened with growing apprehension to the tale that Gerald told, omitting any mention of pistols and daggers, and at the end delivered herself of various expletives highly unsuited to a lady of her advanced years. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. Brendon and I are great chums,” he went on nervously. Here he was hotly pursued.
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