The Oldest Flame Read Free

Their conversation ran on easily, often
including Mrs. Grey, regardless of the silence or hesitancy of the
others at the table.
    Rose was a child still, Mrs. Meade thought as
she watched her, but she was at the age where young girls wish to
be as grown-up as possible and scorn youthful things—hence her
attraction to the older, distinguished Steven Emery and her
tendency to look down on her old childhood playmate. It was
unfortunate, too, that Mark, on the other side of the table, was
incapable of concealing just how hard he was taking it. For most of
the meal his eyes had been on Rose, the hurt in them plain at every
word she exchanged with her companion. Beside Steven Emery, who had
the good grace not to notice his hostility, he appeared merely a
jealous and somewhat sullen boy.
    And yet even Steven Emery seemed to have
something on his mind. Occasionally when Rose was talking
animatedly to her mother or someone else, Mrs. Meade observed him
stealing a look at her that seemed considering, possibly a little
doubtful. Was he wondering if he would be able to win her? All the
signs certainly looked favorable. He was said to be well-off
financially; he seemed an acceptable suitor in every personal
respect. Perhaps he was merely attacked with the self-doubt that
sometimes overtakes a man in love. He did not look like a man who
lost his self-possession often. In his early thirties, yet handsome
enough to look younger, well-dressed and with a distinct charm of
manner, he certainly had every advantage calculated to make a good
impression. Mrs. Meade, fond as she was of Mark Lansbury, had to
acknowledge that there was no good reason why Rose should not fall in love with Steven Emery.
    “It’s only the time that makes it difficult,”
Mr. Lansbury was saying, turning a small silver fork over slowly in
his fingers. “If I had an immediate prospect of capital to show him
it would be a different matter altogether.”
    “I wouldn’t be upset if you fail this
once—you’ve had so many successes. Everything you do seems
to go right,” Grey added, with a slight laugh that did not quite
succeed.
    “Well, you may have something there,” said
Lansbury. “Perhaps I am too used to having things go my way.
Unfortunate for me, if so, but I’m afraid it doesn’t affect my
belief in this project.”
    “You can’t fault Thornton for doing things in
order,” observed Grey.
    “No,” said Lansbury dryly, “except when it
inconveniences me.”
    There was a general laugh at this, a slight
lull in the conversation having made these remarks audible to the
rest of the table. The two gentlemen looked up, smiling a little,
though it was clear they knew there was less humor in the remark
than any of the others appreciated. Mrs. Lansbury may have known,
for she sent her husband a gently appealing look from the foot of
the table which seemed to ask that he leave business topics for
another time. He answered with a look of comprehension and a barely
perceptible nod.
    “Always railroads!” said Rose to Steven Emery
in an undertone, with a pretty little look and smile that was also
meant to be one of understanding. He had been listening
abstractedly to the other men for a moment, a shade of
thoughtfulness on his face, and she guessed that the subject did
not interest him.
    Whatever the case, he returned the smile. “I
shouldn’t despise them, if I were you. Among other things, they may
be the reason we are all sitting here at this table tonight.”
    “What do you mean?” said Rose.
    “Well, aren’t they directly responsible for
your father’s and Mr. Lansbury’s success? If one wants to be quite
literal about it, we can attribute the very roof over our heads and
the salad on our plates to the first pickaxe-blows struck on Carver
Cut.”
    “Oh, of course,” said Rose, smiling. “And I
don’t despise them by any means! I was nearly as interested in the
construction as Papa was last winter, and I enjoyed it when he took
me to see the