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It had certainly been a successful afternoon. Mrs. Errol smiled to herself as she drove back to Baronmead. Everything had gone well. Dear Anne had looked lovely, and she for one was thankful that she had discarded her widow's weeds. Had not her husband been virtually dead to her for nearly a year? Besides here Mrs.
He entered with the air of one well assured of his welcome. "Are you in a mood for chess tonight?" he asked. "Now, you're not to plague her, Nap," put in Mrs. Errol. "She isn't going to spend her last evening amusing you." "Oh, please," protested Anne. "It is your son who has had all the amusing to do." Nap smiled. "There's for you, alma mater!" he remarked as he sat down.
He remembered the time when Isaac D. Worthington had done him a great wrong. "You are dismissed," he said, "because Mr. Worthington has come home, and because the two other members of the committee are dogs and cowards." Mr. Graves never minced matters when he began, and his voice shook with passion. "If Mr. Errol had examined you, and you had your certificate, it might have been different.
Errol put her arm round him as one who comforted a child. "Is that someone crying?" gasped Lucas. "It's that ass Bertie," answered Nap, without stirring so much as an eyelid. "Bertie? Poor old chap! Tell him he mustn't. Tell him I'll hang on a little longer God willing; but only a little longer, Boney, only a little longer."
The view that the mistletoe was not merely the instrument of Balder's death, but that it contained his life, is countenanced by the analogy of a Scottish superstition. Tradition ran that the fate of the Hays of Errol, an estate in Perthshire, near the Firth of Tay, was bound up with the mistletoe that grew on a certain great oak.
Once she paused, but, "Ah, go on, dear child! Go on!" urged Mrs. Errol. And she went on, feeling vaguely through the maze of suspense that surrounded them, longing inarticulately to cease all effort, but spurred onward because she knew she must not fail.
Errol who does those fascinating miniatures of all the smart people. Excuse me one moment, my dear; I want her to meet your mother." The fashionable miniature artist was presently arranging with the dazed Mrs. Bines for miniatures of herself and Psyche. Mrs. Drelmer, beholding the pair with the satisfied glance of one who has performed a kindly action, resumed her tete-a-tete with Psyche.
The doctor thinks very seriously of her." "Her husband has been informed?" "Her husband," said Nap from between his teeth, "has been informed, and he declines to come to her. That's the sort of brute he is." Lucas Errol made no comment, and after a moment Nap continued: "It is just as well perhaps. I hear he is never sober after a day's sport.
He was rending the soft kid to ribbons. They left the desolate street behind and came into total darkness. Suddenly, but very quietly, Anne spoke. "This is very kind of you, Mr. Errol." He turned towards her. She had opened her eyes to address him, but the lids drooped heavily. "The kindness is on your side, Lady Carfax," he said deliberately.
So here he was at Manzanita. That was all there was to it. Nothing very mysterious or remarkable about it, was there? Io smiled in return. "What is your name?" she asked. "Errol. But every one calls me Ban." "Haven't you ever told this to any one before?" "No." "Why not?" "Why should I?"
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