He came downtown at nightfall, threading the paths of the public
gardens and the common malls of Charles and Beacon Streets, with a
feeling of immense calm in his soul. Tunis Latham possessed keenly
contrasting attributes of character. On the one hand he was of a
rather practical mind and thought; on the other, his love of beauty
and appreciation of nature's greater forces might have made of him
an artist under more liberal conditions of birth and breeding.
Ida May Bostwick had rasped all the finer feelings of the captain
of the _Seamew_. He was happy to be able to get her out of his mind.
In fact, he had put aside thought of any girl. Romance no longer
enmeshed his cogitations. He was utterly calm, unruffled, serene, as
he descended by the twists and turns of certain streets beyond the
State House and came out finally upon the now lighted and bustling
square.
He halted, like a pointer dog, before the eating place where he had
had breakfast.
Tunis Latham felt a certain shock. That girl with the violet eyes
had been farthest from his thought at the moment, and for some hours
now. He had lumped together the whole girl question and had
relegated it to the back of his mind.
And perhaps he was cured.
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