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I was certain that no one but myself knew that Braden had been to the surgery door therefore, I thought that if I kept silence, his calling there would never be known. But I have since found that I was mistaken. Braden was seen going away from Dr. Ransford's." "By whom?" asked Mary. "Mrs. Deramore at the next house," answered Bryce. "She happened to be looking out of an upstairs window.
And suddenly there was a movement amongst the watchers, and the master-mason looked up from his job and motioned Mitchington to pass him a trowel which lay at a little distance. "Something here!" he said, loudly enough to reach the ears of Bryce and his companions. "Not so deep down, neither, gentlemen!"
"I've no more intention of marrying Mr. Sackville Bonham than of eloping with the Bishop! The idea's too absurd to even be thought of!" Five minutes later Mrs. Folliot, heightened in colour, had gone. And presently Mary, glancing after her across the Close, saw Bryce approaching the gate of the garden.
They shook, George Sea Otter's dark eyes and white teeth flashing pleasurably. Bryce tossed his bag into the tonneau; the half-breed opened the front door; and the young master had his foot on the running-board and was about to enter the car when a soft voice spoke at his elbow: "Driver, this is the stage for Sequoia, is it not?" George Sea Otter could scarcely credit his auditory nerves.
Tell George to take the big car and go over to Red Bluff for him." "I'll attend to it, Mr Cardigan. Anything else?" "Yes, but I'll wait until Bryce gets home." George Sea Otter, son of Bryce Cardigan's old half-breed nurse, was a person in whose nature struggled the white man's predilection for advertisement and civic pride and the red man's instinct for adornment.
But though she encouraged them to descend, in her own mind she was simply choosing the lesser of two terrible evils. The girls and Harry descended quickly; but she had to fairly force Bryce down. He wanted to stay and fight, and he clung to the old musket desperately. Although the tears were running down his face, he was made of the stuff which holds the soldier, though frightened, to his post.
"Thanks so much for the invitation," Ogilvy murmured gratefully. "I'll be down in a pig's whisper." And he was. "Bryce, you look like the devil," he declared the moment he entered the latter's private office. "I ought to, Buck. I've just raised the devil and spilled the beans on the N. C. O." "To whom, when, and where?" "To Pennington's niece, over the telephone about two hours ago."
Bryce means by those words the kind of democracy which might be possible if human nature were as he himself would like it to be, and as he was taught at Oxford to think that it was. If so, the passage is a good instance of the effect of our traditional course of study in politics.
"I'm here, sir," replied the voice of the constable from beside him. "H'm, then there's someone else about." He raised his voice. "Hi, there! have you lost your way?" Kerry stood still, listening. But no one answered to his call. "I'll swear there was someone just behind us, Bryce!" "There was, sir. I saw someone, too. A Chinese resident, probably. Here we are!"
She had studied him as he stood there, waiting for the wedding march, and she had thought how handsome he looked and how fine it would have been if her wee Betty had been getting a man like that in place of the weak-faced Bessemer Hutton. She had watched to see who he was with, and felt deep satisfaction when she noticed him lean over and speak to Mrs. Bryce Cochrane as if he belonged to her.
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