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"Ah!" smiled the other, "that's past, and the 'Renaissance' is here again!" However, Jane was not so taken up with her literary affinities as to lose sight of her own kith and kin. She saw Rosy swim past once or twice, and was gratified by constant glimpses of an active and radiant Truesdale. Once Statira Belden drove by in saffron satin and a mother-of-pearl tiara.
"Very well," answered Truesdale; "I'm perfectly willing to be convinced. Only don't ask me to a dinner I can't sit through a dinner. A little bit of a tea well, that's different." And he turned his friendly eyes in the direction of Bertie Patterson. "It isn't a dinner," said Mrs. Belden, as brusquely as her vocalization would allow.
Ingles, and lots of other prominent people." "Upon my word!" cried Truesdale, in generous emulation. "Just what I did in Paris. I went all up and down the Rue de Crenelle and the Rue St.
"Well, what's the programme?" he asked, feeling for his inside sleeves. "Nothing," said Truesdale; "or anything. Only, I bar law, and philanthropy, and the Complete Letter-writer. What have you got in mind yourself? "I though of going up to the Consolation Club; this is their night." "Sounds sort of soothing," observed Truesdale.
And, lastly, the day itself; when Truesdale, decorated with a daring and wanton orchid, followed Paston out into the middle of the chancel of a crowded and buzzing church; when his father, despite his failing powers and an innate repugnance to the conscious dramatization involved in the ceremonial side of life, led Rosamond up a long aisle with the tremulous embarrassment of an invalid and a novice, and parted from her in front of a broad pair of lawn sleeves; and when Cecilia Ingles scattered a wide shower of rice over the broken flagging of the old front walk, as Mr. and Mrs.
It may be remembered that Truesdale, in making an estimate of the resources of his native town upon the occasion of his return to it, had scheduled the five-o'clock tea as the last resource of all.
'The Lamplighter'; 'The Wide, Wide World'; oh, curse that fellow's funny stories!" as Rosy's ready laugh came from the next room. "But he's as good as I am," Truesdale was forced to avow, as he passed through the hallway and ascended to his room. "And better than lots of others. What can I say or do?" Rosy herself, however, would have asked for no change in Paston's manner.
He entered and advanced a few paces and turned as though to make way for some one of far more importance than himself; and there walked forward and stopped at a delicate distance from them all a woman, bareheaded, ungloved, slender, straight, of middle height, and in life's middle years Rachel Truesdale. She did not look at him or at them; she did not look at anything.
Besides, he crossed his heart that he didn't know who put it there. The Dunbars aren't rich. Miss Truesdale can't afford it. Even Mrs. Grinnell couldn't do it. Judge Abbott has lots of money, but folks have to work for what they get out of him, and old Skinflint is so stingy that he borrows the city papers so's he won't have to buy them himself. Hec Abbott told me so.
"Now, Truesdale, this has gone far enough. You may muss up the house as much as you like, but I can't let you make a laughing-stock of Bertie. When it comes to streaks of green under her chin, and purple shadows under her hair, I I don't think it is right. And she she admires you so much." His aunt's voice broke, and she seemed at no great remove from tears.
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