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Updated: May 27, 2025
Bogardus's face had settled into lines of anxiety printed years before, as the creases in an old garment, smoothed and laid away, will reappear with fresh wear. Her plan was to go back to New York with Christine, who was plainly unfit to bear a long siege of suspense. There she could leave the girl with friends and learn what particulars could be gathered from the Bowens, who would have arrived.
Every day's delay at Challis meant an abridgment of the bridegroom's leave, and the wedding was now but a fortnight away. It began to seem preposterous that he should go at all, and the colonel was annoyed with himself for his enthusiasm over the plan in the first place. Mrs. Bogardus's watchfulness of dates told the story of her thoughts, but she said nothing.
Bogardus's manner, but Cerissa did not know her well enough to perceive it. She merely thought her looking handsomer, and, if possible, more formidable than usual. She sat by the fire, folding her skirts across her knees, and showing the edges of the most discouragingly beautiful petticoats, a taste perhaps inherited from her wide-hipped Dutch progenitresses. Mrs.
"Madam!" said Doctor Gainsworth. He had been Mrs. Bogardus's family physician for many years. "My husband," she repeated. The doctor appeared to accept the statement. As the three approached the bed Mrs. Bogardus leaned heavily upon her son. Paul released his arm and placed it firmly around her. He felt her shudder. "Mother," he said to her with an indescribable accent that tore her heart.
Bring Doctor Gainsworth." In the local man's opinion, the writer of that dispatch was Doctor Gainsworth's true patient. What could induce a woman in Mrs. Bogardus's position to give such hasty publicity to this shocking disclosure, allowing it were true? The more he dwelt on it the less he liked the responsibility he was taking.
Bogardus's orders, and much to Cerissa's disgust a dark kitchen green, not that she liked the color herself, but it was the artistic demand of the moment, and the place was filled with a green golden light from the cherry-trees close to the window, which a break in the clouds had suddenly illumined. "You keep it beautifully," said Mrs. Bogardus, her eyes shedding compliments as she looked around.
This is the tale, composed on reflection. They said nothing of this to Winslow to save publicity, of course! Mrs. Bogardus's lips are doubly sealed, for her son's sake and for the sake of the young scamp who is to be her son, by and by! I saw she winced at my opinion, which I gave her plainly brutally, perhaps. And she asked me particularly to say nothing, which I am particularly not doing.
Bogardus's eyes were hard to meet when her voice took that tone. "Why, the city folks out driving. They often drive in the big gate and make the circle through the grounds, and they're always struck when they see that tower bedroom with windows like a prison. They say, 'What's the story about that room, up there?"
Bogardus's voice, unconcerned as it was; yet the colonel felt at once that this simple question lay at the root of all her previous skirmishing. "The guide will decide as to that," he said definitely. "If it is, he won't go out with them. They have got a good man, you say?" "They are waiting for a good man; they have waited too long, I think.
We've got a good home here for as long as we want to stay. She's easy to work for, if you do what she says." Chauncey respected Mrs. Bogardus's judgment and her straightforward business habits. Other matters he left alone. But Cerissa was ambitious and emotional, and she stayed indoors, doing little things and thinking small thoughts. She resented her commanding neighbor's casual manners.
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