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Westover was aware in more ways than one of Jeff's exclusion from authority in the place, where he was constantly set aside from the management as if his future were so definitely dedicated to another calling that not even his advice was desired or permitted; and he could not help sympathizing a little with him when he chafed at his rejection.

But to Westover she was terribly dull, and he was gasping, as in an exhausted receiver, when Bessie came up with a smile of radiant recognition for his extremity. She got rid of her partner, and devoted herself at once to Westover. "How good of you!" she said, without giving him the pain of an awkward disclaimer. He could counter in equal sincerity and ambiguity, "How beautiful of you."

But I see that most things in this world are not thought about, and not intended. They happen, just as much as the other things that we call accidents." "Yes," said Westover, "but the wrong things don't happen from people who are in the habit of meaning the right ones."

"He's rather old for a Sophomore, I believe. He's twenty-two." "And Genevieve is twenty. Mr. Westover, may I trust you with something?" "With everything, I hope, Mrs. Vostrand." "It's about Genevieve. Her father is so opposed to her making a foreign marriage. It seems to be his one great dread.

The revolt latent in him would be violent in proportion to the pressure put upon him, and Westover began to be without the wish to press his fault home to him so strongly.

He wore the white apron and white cap of his calling, but Westover heard him speak Yankee through his nose to one of the stablemen as they exchanged hilarities across the space between the basement and the barn-door. "Yes," Mrs. Durgin admitted, "he's an American; and he learnt his trade at one of the best hotels in Portland. He's pretty headstrong, but I guess he does what he's told in the end.

She was not a dignified person, but she rose with hauteur and whipped away to her rooms, hers no longer, to make her preparations. She knew at least how to give her going the effect of quitting the place with disdain and abhorrence. The incident of her expulsion was brutal, but it was clearly meant to be so. It made Westover a little sick, and he would have liked to pity Mrs.

One day, after the east wind had ceased to blow the breath of the ice- fields of Labrador against the New England coast, and the buds on the trees along the mall between the lawns of the avenue were venturing forth in a hardy experiment of the Boston May, Mrs. Vostrand asked Westover if she had told him that Mr. Vostrand was actually coming on to Boston.

It was an interesting story and pathetic, like all stories of human endeavor the efforts of the most selfish ambition have something of this interest; and the struggle of the Durgins had the grace of the wish to keep their home. "And is Jeff as well satisfied as the rest?" Westover asked, after other talk and comment on the facts. "Too much so," said Mrs. Durgin.

"I'm tired of it, aren't you?" "Very," said Westover. "I was tired an hour ago." Bessie sank back in her chair with an air of nervous collapse, and did not say anything.