vivid impression of dead
planets, unthinkable wastes of time, illimitable systems and spaces.
James Polder's passionate resentment, his own emotion, were no more
articulate than the thin whirring of the locusts. He went quickly into
the house, to the warm glow of his lamp, the memories of his pictures,
the figurine in baked clay with Hermes' wand of victory.

XXVIII

The heat dragged through the remainder of August and filled September
with steaming days and heavy nights, followed by driving grey storms and
premonitory, chill dawns. A period of sunny tranquillity succeeded, but
crimson blots of sumach, the warmer tone of maples, made it evident that
summer had lapsed. Honduras mulched the strawberries, and set new teeth
in his lawn rakes. The days passed without feature, or word from
Mariana, and Howat Penny fell into an almost slumberous monotony of
existence. It was not unpleasant; occupied with small duties, intent on
his papers, or wandering in a past that seemed to grow clearer, rather
than fade, as time multiplied, he maintained his erect, carefully
ordered existence. Then, among his mail, he found a large,
formal-appearing envelope which he opened with a mild curiosity. His
attitude of detachment was soon dispelled.

Mrs. Corinne de Barry desired the pleasure of his attendance at the
wedding of her daughter, Harriet, to James Polder. Details, a church and
hour, were appended. The headlong young man, he thought, with a smile,
Mariana was well out of that. He had been wise in saying nothing to
Charlotte; the thing had expired naturally. But, irrationally, he
thought of Polder with a trace of contempt--a man who had,
unquestionably, possessed Mariana Jannan's regard marrying the
pink-faced understudy to a second-rate emotional actress! In a way it
made him cross; the fellow should have shown a--a greater appreciation,
delicacy. "Commonplace," he said decisively, aloud. The following day
Mariana herself appeared, with a touch of sable and a small, wickedly
becoming hat.

He was at lunch; and, without delay, she took the place smilingly laid
for her by Rudolph. It was characteristic that she made no pretence of
concealing the reason that had brought her to Shadrach. "Jim's going to
marry that Harriet de Barry," she said at once, nicely casual. "I had a
card," he informed her. "It's to be on the thirtieth," Mariana
proceeded, "at eight o'clock and in church. Of course you are going."

"Not at all of cour