Then an angry flame of recognition colored his thin cheeks.
Aware now of his father's presence, Marshall tossed aside his book and quitted his chair.

For two days he had been dreading this meeting, and for two days he had done what he could to avert it.
"You must have had a rather cold walk, father; let me draw a chair up close to the fire for you," he said.
Evelyn had risen to greet the judge, while the gambler turned to give him an easy nod.

A smile hid itself in the shadow of his black mustache; he was feeling very sure of himself and surer still of Evelyn.

The disfavor or approval of this slight man of sixty meant nothing to him.
"How do you do, sir!" said the judge with icy civility.
Had he met Gilmore on the street he would not have spoken to him.

As he slowly withdrew his eyes from the gambler, he said to his son: "Can you spare me a moment or two, Marshall ?" "Come into the library," and Marshall led the way from the room.
They walked the length of the hall in silence, Marshall a step or two in advance of the judge.