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Updated: June 5, 2025
The Health Department," she explained, "has sent in complaint after complaint, and Miss Eliot simply won't handle the property unless she's allowed to spend a lot setting things to rights. Alys says it's absurd; none of the other property owners out there are doing anything, and she won't. So, nobody's looking after it, and somebody should." "Who told you all this?" he demanded.
Now she's gone in for herself, and she's doing well. We've given her several things " "Take it out of a man's hands to put it into a woman's!" Alys exclaimed. And Emelene added softly: "What can a woman be thinking of, to go into a dreadful business like selling real estate and collecting rents!" "Of course, she was trained by men!" Genevieve threw in, a little anxiously.
One, who rushed forward with outstretched hand, was a curiously vital-appearing creature in black plainly a widow hardly more than thirty-two or thirty-three, fresh of skin, rather prominent as to eyeballs, yet, everything considered, a handsome woman. This was Alys Brewster-Smith.
Then the door from behind swung open. Mr. Penfield Evans stepped into Mrs. Gallup's cool, exclusive parlor of better days, and delivering his card to a moist-fingered maid, sat himself among the shrouded furniture to await Mrs. Alys Brewster-Smith and Miss Emelene Brand. Mrs. Gallup's boarding-house was finishing its noonday meal.
Miss Eliot's face showed no surprise, though her eyes twinkled, but Mr. Glass was frankly taken aback. "Mrs. Brewster Smith Brewster Smith," he stammered. "Oh er " he gripped his pigskin folio as if about to search its contents to verify the name. "The er the owner?" he inquired. Alys stiffened. "My dear husband left me this property. I have never before seen it." "I'm very glad," beamed Mr.
Emelene and Alys always breakfast in bed, anyway, and it will be no trouble to get Betty over." The two men rode home in complacent silence. It was long past midnight. They sat on the veranda to finish their cigars before going into the house.
I did not make a single statement having any connection with myself, but throughout I was calling on her to think of herself and of me as of those two. I saw her in my own arms, with the tears of Alys on her lashes. I was making mad love, though she was unconscious of my doing it." "How do you know she was unconscious?" remarked Mr. Penzance. "You are a very strong man."
Aghast, they had perceived the same awful truth. You sent her away for that? So they stood looking down this dark gulf, and the light of anger died. In a toneless voice: "We mustn't let Cousin Emelene and Alys hear us quarreling," said George. And Genevieve answered, "They've gone down to breakfast." The two ladies were seated at table.
Do you know anything of the state of a man who cannot utter the most ordinary words to a woman without being conscious that he is making mad love to her? This afternoon I found myself telling Miss Vanderpoel the story of Red Godwyn and Alys of the Sea-Blue Eyes.
There was a window by my bed, I looked out at it, and saw that I was high up; down in the street the people were going to and fro, and there was a knot of folks gathered about a minstrel, who sat on the edge of a fountain, with his head laid sideways on his shoulder, and nursing one leg on the other; he was singing only, having no instrument, and he sang the song I had tried to listen to, I heard some of it now: I fell back in my bed and wept, for I was weak with my illness; to think of this! truly this man was a perfect knight, and deserved to win Alys.
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