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Updated: May 12, 2025
Gerald Scales had never been asked to supper; he had never even seen John Baines; but, as the youthful successor of an aged traveller who had had the pleasure of St. Luke's Square, on behalf of Birkinshaws, since before railways, Mrs.
But why, when nearly three months had elapsed after her father's death, had she spent more and more time in the shop, secretly aflame with expectancy? Why, when one day a strange traveller entered the shop and announced himself the new representative of Birkinshaws why had her very soul died away within her and an awful sickness seized her? She knew then that she had been her own deceiver.
Baines and cast her off, and,, like most persons in a similar situation, she was, unconsciously and quite honestly, at odds with the everlasting purpose. On the day of Mr. Scales's visit to the shop to obtain orders and money on behalf of Birkinshaws, a singular success seemed to attend the machinations of Mrs. Baines. With Mr.
There are certain things I CAN do, and these I SHALL do ... Let me warn you that young Scales is a thoroughly bad lot. I know all about him. He has been living a wild life abroad, and if it hadn't been that his uncle is a partner in Birkinshaws, they would never have taken him on again." A pause.
Baines to forget that the representative of Birkinshaws was due to call was indeed a final victory for the elephant. "But not you!" he exclaimed. "No," she said. "Not me." "Why didn't you go too?" He continued his flattering investigations with a generous smile. "I simply didn't care to," said she, proudly nonchalant. "And I suppose you are in charge here?" "No," she answered.
"I didn't know you were in Paris," she evaded him. "I went to start a sort of agency for Birkinshaws," he said. "I suppose you talk French like anything." "Of course one has to talk French," said he. "I learnt French when I was a child from a governess my uncle made me but I forgot most of it at school, and at the Varsity you never learn anything precious little, anyhow! Certainly not French!"
Critchlow's inane and inquisitive remarks, felt chilly, which was bad for her sciatica. She wondered whether Sophia would have to confess to Mr. Critchlow that she was not certainly a widow. She thought that steps ought to be taken to ascertain, through Birkinshaws, if anything was known of Gerald Scales. But even that course was set with perils. What shame in the town!
He went himself, that afternoon, and returned with the news that an aunt of Scales had recently died, leaving him twelve thousand pounds, and that he had, after quarrelling with his uncle Boldero, abandoned Birkinshaws at an hour's notice and vanished with his inheritance. "It's as plain as a pikestaff," said Mr. Critchlow.
His broad, tight necktie, with an edge of white collar showing above it, was particularly elegant. He had been on the road for Birkinshaws for several years; but Sophia had only seen him once before in her life, when she was a little girl, three years ago.
Boldero. He's a partner in Birkinshaws." "Oh!" "You've heard of him? He's a great Wesleyan." "Oh yes," she said. "When we had the Wesleyan Conference here, he " "He's always very great at Conferences," said Gerald Scales. "I didn't know he had anything to do with Birkinshaws." "He isn't a working partner of course," Mr. Scales explained. "But he means me to be one.
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