Edith Wharton

Tales of Men and Ghosts Edith Wharton

HUBERT GRANICE, pacing the length of his pleasant lamp-lit library, paused to comparehis watch with the clock on the chimney-piece. Three minutes to eight. In exactly three minutes Mr. Peter Ascham, of the eminent legal firm of Ascham andPettilow, would have his punctual hand on the door-bell of the flat. It was a comfort toreflect that Ascham was so punctual-the suspense was beginning to make his hostnervous. And the sound of the door-bell would be the beginning of the end-after thatthere'd be no going back, by God-no going back!Granice resumed his pacing. Each time he reached the end of the room opposite the doorhe caught his reflection in the Florentine mirror above the fine old walnut credence he hadpicked up at Dijon-saw himself spare, quick-moving, carefully brushed and dressed, butfurrowed, gray about the temples, with a stoop which he corrected by a spasmodicstraightening of the shoulders whenever a glass confronted him: a tired middle-aged man, baffled, beaten, worn out. As he summed himself up thus for the third or fourth time the door opened and heturned with a thrill of relief to greet his guest. But it was only the man-servant whoentered, advancing silently over the mossy surface of the old Turkey rug."Mr. Ascham telephones, sir, to say he's unexpectedly detained and can't be here tilleight-thirty.