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But even as he spoke a quiet voice invaded the tense silence like a bell in a quiet night. It was Mrs. Gwynne, her slight girlish figure standing quietly erect, her face glowing as with an inner light, her eyes resting in calm fearlessness upon the Rector's heated countenance.
But, indeet, Rowland Prothero did be more than a son to me, and if Miss Gwynne was my own doater she couldn't be kinder. She was buying up enough of my beauty furniture to fill the little cottage. I did be finding it out 'esterday, and seure it was their wedding present to a poor, childless widow, as 'ould be in the Eunion, and I with hundreds and thousands!
"I have forgotten her name. Will you have a cigarette?" "No, but you may smoke if you like." He had settled himself in a deep chair on the opposite side of the hearth. There was a silence of nearly ten minutes, until Isabel, suddenly removing her coat, brought Gwynne out of his reverie. "I cannot say that to-night was in any sense a repetition of my own experience at Arcot," he said, abruptly.
The lawyer who advised this group in its necessarily intermittent campaign against the San Francisco politicians was one of the ablest in the United States. He had offered Gwynne a place in his office, a 'courtesy partnership, when he was ready to move to the city. But Gwynne deliberately remained undecided for the present, although half inclined to practise in the country for some years.
I know all my stuff an' yours is here. We'll make a trade." To this Mr. Gwynne gladly agreed. The arrangement would save trouble and useless expenditure. Hence the car was packed with such goods as Mr. Sleighter considered especially useful in the new home, and with such household furniture as the new home lacked and such articles as were precious from family or personal associations.
"He chooses, not I. A mother, whose dutiful son has been her sole stay through life, has no right to interfere with what he deems his happiness," said Alison, gravely. And, at that moment, the young curate reappeared, ready for the duties to which he was summoned by the sharp sound of the "church-going bell." "I will stay at home with Captain Rothesay," observed Mrs. Gwynne.
Kenneth Gwynne rode beside the ubiquitous "Judge" Billings, who cheerfully and persuasively sought to "swap" horses with him when not otherwise employed in discoursing upon the vast inefficiency of certain specifically named officers who rode in all their plump glory at or near the head of the column. He was particularly out of sympathy with a loud-mouthed lieutenant.
She turned to Gwynne, her eyes flashing dramatically; she was tired of being chorus to her popular husband's leading rôles, and was determined to hold the centre of the stage for Gwynne's edification at least. "They pretend to come here because the dinner is so good!" she exclaimed. "Good and cheap! But it isn't that a bit with the swells the women, that is.
Now, before taking the jewellery to Pash, Krill could not have written that paper, so you must have seen him during the few hours which elapsed between his visit to Pash and his death." This was clearly argued, and Jessop could not contradict. "I left him quite well and hearty." "In the cellar in Gwynne Street?" "Yes, in the cellar," admitted Jessop. "At what time?"
Harold Gwynne was not singular in this. Scarcely ever was there an unbeliever who desired to see his own scepticism reflected in his child. Mrs. Gwynne continued "I don't think I can ever sufficiently thank you, my dear Miss Rothesay." "Say Olive, as you generally do." For her Christian name sounded so sweet and homelike from Harold's mother; especially now. "Olive, then!
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