THE BEST MAN
I
DUSK had fallen, and the circle of light shed by the lamp of
Governor Mornway's writing-table just rescued from the surrounding
dimness his own imposing bulk, thrown back in a deep chair in the
lounging attitude habitual to him at that hour.
When the Governor of Midsylvania rested he rested completely. Five
minutes earlier he had been bowed over his office desk, an Atlas
with the State on his shoulders; now, his working hours over, he had
the air of a man who has spent his day in desultory pleasure, and
means to end it in the enjoyment of a good dinner. This freedom from
care threw into relief the hovering fidgetiness of his sister, Mrs.
Nimick, who, just outside the circle of lamplight, haunted the warm
gloom of the hearth, from which the wood fire now and then sent up
an exploring flash into her face.
Mrs. Nimick's presence did not usually minister to repose; but the
Governor's serenity was too deep to be easily disturbed, and he felt
the calmness of a man who knows there is a mosquito in the room, but
has drawn the netting close about his head.
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