Mr. Beason and Mr. Ross were both, in their
differing ways, alert and interesting, and there had been some good
wrangles around the evening fire. Other people had found them out, and
they had drawn to them an interesting group of friends. So the days had
flowed steadily on, a brave struggle to meet life in good part, keep that
good-fellowship of the spirit.
One of the hardest things of all had been deceiving Karl. Her reason
justified it, but it hurt her heart. They had been able to do it,
however, better than she would have believed possible. Mr. Ross was with
him most of the time when she was not, and had frequently been forced to
intercept some caller who was close to an innocent remark about Mrs.
Hubers being over at the university. Several times Karl had caught the
odour of the laboratory about her, and she had been forced to explain it
as the odour of the studio; and more than once, in the midst of a
discussion, her interest had beguiled her into some surprisingly
intelligent remark, and she had been obliged to invent laughing reasons
for knowing anything about it.
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