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Updated: September 23, 2025
She was standing among the deepest shadows, against the trunk of the cedar tree, her slim body leaning slightly against it. It seemed to him that her face was whiter, her eyes softer than ever. He took her hand in his. She smiled. "You must not come out to me here," she whispered. "Mr. Bomford will not like it. It is most improper." "But it may be our good-bye," he pleaded.
Burton glanced from one to the other of the two men with an air of almost pitiful non-comprehension. Mr. Bomford, having emptied his glass of claret, started afresh. "My idea, in short," he went on, "is this. Let us three join forces. Let us analyze this marvelous product, into the possession of which you, Mr. Burton, have so mysteriously come.
Bomford both moved their chairs so that they sat on either side of him. The professor filled the glasses with his own hand. It was his special claret, a wonderful wine, the cobwebbed bottle of which, reposing in a wicker cradle, he handled with jealous care. "Mr. Burton," he began, settling down in his chair, "we have been unjust to you, Mr. Bomford and I. We apologize. We ask your forgiveness."
Burton," the newcomer continued, setting down his silk hat upon a corner of the table, and lifting his coat-tails preparatory to sinking into a chair, "because I believe that in the excitement of our conversation a few nights ago, we did not do adequate justice to the sentiments which er provoked our offer to you." Mr. Bomford sat down with the air of a man who has spoken well.
Burton yawned slightly. His eyes sought once more the velvety shadows which hung over the lawn. He wondered down which of those dim avenues she had passed. "I am so sorry," he said apologetically. "You are a man of business, Mr. Bomford, and you, professor, see much further into life than I can, but I do not wish to have anything whatever to do with your scheme.
Alfred turned his head and there was no doubt about the relationship. He, too, possessed the deep-set eyes with their strange, intense glow, the quivering mouth, the same sensitiveness of outline. "Yes, this is my son," Burton admitted, quietly. "Go and shake hands with Mr. Bomford, Alfred." The child crossed the room and held out his hand with grave self-possession.
There is his daughter " "I will reconsider the matter," Burton interrupted, hastily. "I cannot say more than that." Mr. Bomford signified his satisfaction. "I am convinced," he said, "that you will come around to our way of thinking. I proceed now to the second reason of my visit to you this afternoon. Professor Cowper and his daughter are doing me the honor to dine with me to-night at the Milan.
This is a restaurant which only the rich could afford to patronize save occasionally, yet you see for yourself that the prominent note here is a subdued and artistic tastefulness. The days of loud colors and of the flamboyant life are past. Money to-day is the handmaiden to culture." Exceedingly pleased with his speech, Mr. Bomford leaned back in his chair and lighted a half-crown cigar.
Cowper here in confidence." He left them both sitting there. He found Edith in a corner of the long drawing-room. She was pretending to read. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked. "I did not expect you so soon. I thought that Mr. Bomford and father wanted to talk to you." "So they did," he replied. "They made me a foolish offer. It was Mr. Bomford's idea, I am sure, not your father's.
Bomford was almost enough to turn his head. She held out both her hands. "My dear Mr. my dear Paul!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you! Have you motored down?" "Obviously, my dear, obviously," the newcomer remarked, removing further portions of his disguise and revealing a middle-aged man of medium height and unimposing appearance, with slight sandy whiskers and moustache.
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