He ignored
any animosity which San Juan might feel for him. If a man looked at
him stonily, Galloway did not care to let it be seen that he saw; if a
woman turned out to avoid him, no evidence that he understood darkened
his eyes. He had a good-humored word to speak always; he lifted his
hat to the banker's wife, as he had always done; he mingled with the
crowd when there were "exercises" at the little schoolhouse; he warmly
congratulated Miss Porter, the crabbed old-maid teacher, on the work
she had accomplished and made her wonder fleetingly if there wasn't a
bit of good in the man, after all. Perhaps there was; there is in most
men. And Florrie Engle was beginning to wonder the same thing. For
Rod Norton, recovered and about his duties, was not quite the same
touchingly heroic figure he had been while lying unconscious and in
danger of his life. Nor was it any part of Florrie Engle's nature to
remain long either upon the heights or in the depths of an emotion.
The night of the shooting she had cried out passionately against
Galloway; as days went their placid way and she saw Galloway upon each
one of them . . . and did not see a great deal of Norton, who was
either away or monopolizing Virginia, . . . she took the first step in
the gambler's direction by beginning to be sorry for him.
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