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In her heart, Marcia probably did not share this faith. But she faithfully forbore to harass Bartley with her doubts, and on those evenings when he found her such dull company she was silent because if she spoke she must express the trouble in her mind. Women are more apt to theorize their husbands than men in their stupid self-absorption ever realize.
We can go mad with joy, as the people do out in the fields on a fine Whitsunday. We make the most of our moment." She thrust her little chin out defiantly over her gray fur collar, and Bartley looked down at her and laughed. "You are a plucky one, you." He patted her glove with his hand. "Yes, you are a plucky one." Hilda sighed. "No, I'm not. Not about some things, at any rate.
"I stayed longer than I expected, a little, because father seemed to want me to. I don't think mother's so well as she used to be, I I'm afraid she seems to be failing, somehow." Her voice dropped to a lower key, and Bartley said, "I'm sorry to hear that. I guess she isn't failing. But of course she's getting on, and every year makes a difference."
A good many years before the time of the Northwick defalcation, the Events had been in the management of a journalist, once well-known in Boston, a certain Bartley Hubbard, who had risen from the ranks of the reporters, and who had thoroughly reporterized it in the worst sense.
Mary dashed off without a moment's hesitation at the quick-set hedge; she did not run up to it and hesitate like a woman, for it was not to be wriggled through; she went at it with the momentum and impetus of a race-horse, and through it as if it was made of blotting-paper, leaving a wonderfully small hole, but some shreds of her dress, and across the meadow at a pace that neither Bartley nor Monckton, men past their prime, could hope to rival even if she had not got the start.
The Colonel sent for Walter to his room. He did not come for some time, because he was wooing Mary Bartley. Colonel Clifford's first word was, "Who was that little stuttering dandy I caught spooning your Julia?" "Only Percy Fitzroy." "Only Percy Fitzroy! Never despise your rivals, sir. Always remember that young women are full of vanity, and expect to be courted all day long.
Bartley promptly went over the fork and slid to the ground. Dobe gazed down at his rider curiously, ears cocked forward, as though trying to understand just what his rider meant to do next. Bartley expected to see the horse whirl and leave for home. But Dobe stood patiently until his rider had mounted. Bartley glanced round covertly, wondering if any one had witnessed his impromptu descent.
Incidentally, Hull had been found by the stableman, curiously roped and tied and his lower jaw somewhat out of plumb. Bartley and Scott arrived in San Andreas about noon, saw to their stock and had dinner together. Bartley engaged a room at the hotel. Scott bought supplies. Then, unknown to Bartley, Scott hunted up the town marshal and told him that the Easterner was a friend of his.
"The State House," said Bartley, with easy command of the facts, and, pointing in the several directions; "Beacon Street; Public Garden; Back Bay." She came home to Mrs. Nash joyfully admiring the city, but admiring still more her husband's masterly knowledge of it. Mrs.
To her simple experience, when Bartley told how magnificently the reporters had been accommodated, at some civic or commercial or professional banquet, with a table of their own, where they were served with all the wines and courses, he seemed to have been one of the principal guests, and her fear was that his head should be turned by his honors.
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