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Grenfell's tableaux, in April, when she had appeared as Circe, in an architectural frame especially designed by Mr. Farwell himself. There had been a moment of hushed astonishment, followed by an acclaim that sent the curtain up twice again. We must try to imagine, too, the logical continuation of that triumph in the Baiae of our modern republic and empire, Newport.
"So it seems at least partly so." Farwell parried the blows as one does even when he sees failure at hand. "Perhaps you know your death was reported some years ago? There was a full account. You were escaping into Canada. The La Belle was the name of the boat. It went down near here?" "Off Bleak Head," Farwell broke in. "Thanks. There was even a picture of you in the papers," Ledyard said.
The vivid opalescent lights of the western sky grew fainter, faded. Simultaneously the zenith shaded from turquoise to sapphire. In the northeast, low over the plains, gleaming silver against the dark velvet background of the heavens, lay the first star. But Farwell paid no attention to these things.
"Are you and Daddy here for dinner already?" Mrs. Farwell laughed. "No, you lazy bones, it's not quite as late as that. I came before Daddy, because I have news for you such news!" "Tell us," Polly demanded, quite thoroughly awake. "News of what?" Mrs. Farwell sat down on the edge of the bed and began: "I've had a letter from Mrs. Banks, she and Maud are in New York and "
"Nothing like it," Dunne rejoined. "Water finds the weak spots every time. Well, good morning, Mr. Farwell. Glad to see you at my ranch any time. Ask anybody where it is." Farwell stared after him for a moment, a little puzzled and by no means satisfied with himself.
And, though he would have meant it in any case, the hint about roofing made certain that "Elder" Driver would have a call in the morning from a rising young hardware salesman. By this time they were at the Farwell gate, and J.W. said goodnight. Mr.
"That," said Farwell deliberately, "is entirely our own affair." "It affects us. You can't possibly use the water, because your lands are not cultivated." "The water benefits the land," Farwell rejoined coldly. "It shows intending purchasers that we are actually delivering a sufficient quantity of water. Our use of it is legitimate." "It's a low-down, cultus trick, if you ask me!"
As Uncle George finished they reached the top of Academy Hill, where Miss Farwell saw the old school building ghostly and still in the mists that hung about it like a shroud, the tumble-down fence with the gap leading into the weed-grown yard, the grassy knoll and the oak all wet and sodden now, and below, the valley with its homes and fields hidden in the thick fog, suggestive of hidden and mysterious depths.
This woman with the deep, kind eyes, the soft, calm voice, her cheeks glowing with healthful outdoor exercise, and her air of sweet womanliness. The nurse spoke the second time. "I am Miss Farwell. You are Miss Jordan, I believe. I see you pass the house frequently. Won't you be seated, please, you seem to be in trouble." Poor Charity! Dropping weakly into a chair she burst into bitter tears.
Farwell's eyes held hers commandingly, entreatingly. "You must hear what I have to say. Why do you think I have stayed in Kenmore? Why I must stay? Have you thought?" "No." And for the first time in her life Priscilla wondered. Before, the man had been but part of her life; now she wondered about him, with the woman-mind that had come so suddenly and tragically to her. "No, Master Farwell, why?"
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