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Oh! no, not Naylor's the girls have made a hash there, as they do everything else; but we will settle her before they come out again. Phyllis screamed and begged for mercy her last ally had deserted her. 'Promise! cried the boys. 'Oh, don't! was all her answer. Reginald caught her and held her fast, Maurice advanced upon her, she struggled, and gave a scream of real terror.

"From what the lawyers say, the old man seems to have been getting rid of his money, somehow or to somebody," she grumbled, in a positive whisper. To Mr. Naylor's intense relief, Beaumaroy interrupted this conversation. "Well, how do you like this little place, Mrs. Radbolt?" he asked cheerfully. "Not a bad little crib, is it? Don't you think so too, Dr. Arkroyd?"

She laid her information before an attentive, if not very respectful, audience gathered round the tea-table at Old Place, the Naylors' handsome house on the outskirts of Sprotsfield and on the far side of the heath from Inkston. She was enjoying herself, although she was, as usual, a trifle distrustful of the quality of Mr. Naylor's smile; it smacked of the satiric.

Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor's story of the two men, one tall and slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitered Tower Cottage. The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He heard the scrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his hand out of a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still.

Gage came out of Naylor's house, and her daughter with her, in great anger, calling me to account for having spoken of her in a most unbecoming way, calling her the sour Gage, and trying to set the Squire against them. 'Oh, that abominable chattering woman! Jane exclaimed; 'and Betsy Wall too, I saw her all alive about something. What a nuisance such people are! 'In short, said Mr.

'No, no, shouted Reginald, 'we will only treat her like the horse- stinger; you wanted a puella, Maurice here is one for you, here, give her a dose of the turpentine. 'Yes, said Maurice, advancing with his bottle; 'and do you take the poker down to Naylor's to be sharpened, it will just do to stick through her back.

The higher nature had been raised, the lower debased; Alec Naylor's sympathies had been sharpened and sensitized; Beaumaroy's blunted. Where the one had found ideals and incentives, the other found despair a despair that issued in excuses and denied high standards.

I shall give her some of my Eau de Cologne." Miss Naylor's headaches after dancing were things on which to calculate. The girls carried their books into the arbour; it was a showery day, and they had to run for shelter through the raindrops and sunlight. "The French first, Chris!"

Miss Naylor's eyes darted bewildered glances at the roof where the crossing of the beams made such deep shadows; at the litter of brushes, tools, knives, and colours on a table made out of packing-cases; at the big window, innocent of glass, and flush with the floor, whence dangled a bit of rusty chain relic of the time when the place had been a store-loft; her eyes were hastily averted from an unfinished figure of the nude.

A look of anxiety came into John's face and he asked in an anxious voice, "What is the matter with Harry? Is he well?" "Quite well." "Then what has he been doing?" "Nay, it's something he wants to do." "He wants to get married, I suppose?" "Nay, I haven't heard of any foolishness of that make. I'll tell you what he wants to do he wants to rent his share in the mill to Naylor's sons."