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Ingelow congratulated her on her bright looks as he shook hands. "I never saw you looking better," he said, with earnest admiration. "Looks are deceitful, then," said Mollie, shaking her early head dolefully. "I don't think I ever felt worse, even when cooped up in Doctor Oleander's prison." "Really! What has gone wrong now?" the artist inquired. "Everything dreadful!
Mollie made a gesture of horror. "Oh, stop! Not that! I should die if it were known I was Guy Oleander's wife! I mean it, Hugh Ingelow. I should die of shame!" She rose impetuously from the table and walked away to one of the windows. "You don't know how I abhor that man abhor, detest, hate, loathe him! There is no word in all the language strong enough to express my feeling for him.
"Yours is a very sad affliction, indeed." "A very sad affliction! Do you mean being imprisoned here?" "Oh, dear, no, miss!" looking embarrassed. "I mean I'm sure, I beg your pardon, miss I mean " "You mean you pretend to believe Doctor Oleander's romance," interrupted Mollie, contemptuously. "You mean I am crazy!" "Don't be angry, miss," said Mrs. Sharpe, deprecatingly.
The boarders dressed or not as they chose, but as a rule they played up to Miss Oleander's role of hostess and appeared at dinner in festive raiment. The table was set with care and taste, but Josie found the food no better than the one meal she had eaten at Mrs. Pete's in Dorfield. Mrs.
"Where did you make your find?" asked the guest, who turned out to be Braxton Denton, Miss Oleander's horse-racing brother, a middle-aged man with a flashy cravat and a crooked mouth. "She found me. She seems to be a good enough servant considering she is so marvelously stupid." Josie overheard the conversation as she removed the soup plates.
I want something more than 'thank you' for all that." Mollie tried to laugh all in a flutter. "Name your price, then, sir. Though it were half my kingdom, you shall be paid." "And don't mind me, sir," suggested Mrs. Sharpe, demurely. "Ah! but I do mind you," said Mr. Ingelow; "and besides, the time for payment has not yet come. Doctor Oleander's little bill must be settled first.
In the first bright sparkle and intoxication, she could quite forget that awful fact that she was Dr. Oleander's wedded wife. "Splendid! Oh! what fun it will be to see him! And such glorious revenge, too!" "Seriously, Mollie," said Mr. Ingelow, "he deserves to be punished for his unmanly trick." "And he shall be!" Mollie cried, her eyes sparkling. "He shall be, if all the world knows the story!
"I may as well do something," she said, brusquely, in answer to Mrs. Oleander's very faint objections; "there's nothing to do upstairs, and she doesn't want me. She only calls me names." So Mrs. Susan Sharpe rubbed, and wrung, and soaped, and pounded, and boiled, and blued for three mortal hours, and then there was a huge basket of clothes all ready to go on the line.
I am almost satisfied, now, that I know I am not Guy Oleander's wretched wife." "But, heavens above, Mollie Dane!" cried the bewildered Mr. Walraven, "whose wife are you?" "Ah, guardy, I would give a great deal to know that." "Whom do you suspect?" "I suspect no one now." There was a shade of sadness in her tone, and her eyes wandered wistfully over to the young artist.
No fate earth can have in store for me can be half so horrible as to know myself the wife of Guy Oleander." "And if I thought you were his wife, Mollie, rest assured I should never have taken you from him," said Mr. Ingelow, decidedly. "You are no more Guy Oleander's wife than I am." "Heaven be praised for that!" Mollie cried. "But then, I am entirely in the dark. Whose wife am I?" Mr.
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