Edith Wharton

Tales of Men and Ghosts Edith Wharton

HUBERT GRANICE, pacing the length of his pleasant lamp-lit library, paused tocompare his 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 Aschamand Pettilow, would have his punctual hand on the door-bell of the flat. It was acomfort to reflect that Ascham was so punctual-the suspense was beginning tomake his host nervous. And the sound of the door-bell would be the beginning ofthe end-after that there'd be no going back, by God-no going back!Granice resumed his pacing. Each time he reached the end of the room oppositethe door he caught his reflection in the Florentine mirror above the fine old walnutcredence he had picked up at Dijon-saw himself spare, quick-moving, carefullybrushed and dressed, but furrowed, gray about the temples, with a stoop which hecorrected by a spasmodic straightening of the shoulders whenever a glassconfronted him: a tired middle-aged man, baffled, beaten, worn out.