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Again the portiere opened. "Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Van Rock Mr. Kennedy Jones Miss Trevor," announced Blakeman successively. Mrs. Thayor's fourth dinner party that week had begun. As the door closed at midnight upon the last guest, Margaret kissed her father and mother good-night and hurried to her room, leaving the two alone.
"I shall see you at the Van Renssalaer's Thursday we are to dine at eight, I believe." She smiled wearily in assent. "And remember me to your good husband," he added. "I hope he will have the best of luck." "They say hunting is a worse habit to break than bridge," she returned with a forced little laugh. Blakeman followed the doctor to the door.
When at last it was ready Blakeman started to serve it. Thayor caught his butler's eye and motioned him to a seat beside him. "You are as hungry as the rest of us," he said with an effort; "there's no need of formality here, Blakeman." He glanced with a peculiar, weary smile from one to another of the little group squatting around the improvised meal, and his voice faltered.
The moment was irresistible in that second he was conscious of the fragrance and warmth of her girlhood. He felt her soft brown hands in his own, straining to release themselves. "Don't!" she faltered; "please I beg of you " A voice behind him brought him to his senses: "Beg pardon, miss, but luncheon is served." It was Blakeman. The butler stood respectfully aside to let them pass.
"Did you, indeed, sir!" exclaimed Blakeman, his face lighting up. "Well, I'm happy to hear it, sir I am, indeed. A full blue-coat, sir, I dare say." "Yes, and a splendid set of horns." They had reached the broad corridor leading to his wife's bedroom, Blakeman continuing up to Thayor's room with his traps.
Again, it seemed as if quarrelling had broken out among the boulders quarrels that changed to girlish laughter and distant choruses. Once his mind reverted to the note he had sent by Blakeman; he wondered what effect the news had had upon Alice.
"I'm going to give madame a chance she's a fool, but she's not crooked; that is, I don't think she is," Blakeman replied. "Then I'll speak out." "Do you think Mr. Thayor suspects anything?" asked Holcomb, after a moment's hesitation. "He's not that kind. I dare not tell him never in the world would tell him. You might he would listen to you. Butlers are seldom believed I've tried it."
The importance of the author's labors can be duly appreciated only by those who have had occasion to study somewhat extensively the musical history of the last century. For them the results of those labors as here presented are invaluable. Sermons of the REV. C. H. SPURGEON, of London. Third Series. New York: Sheldon, Blakeman & Co.
London: John Camden Holten. 1859. pp. lxxxviii., 160. On the English Language, Past and Present. By RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D. New Edition, revised and enlarged. New York: Blakeman & Mason. 1859. pp. 238. A Select Glossary of English Words used formerly in Senses different from their present. By RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D. New York: Redfield. 1859. pp. xi., 218.
"You saw them quite by chance, I'll wager. You're not the kind of a lad to prowl on the edge of other people's affairs." Holcomb did not reply. He was weighing in his mind the advisability of making a confidant of Blakeman against the wisdom of telling him nothing.
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