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Updated: June 21, 2025
"See here, old man," said Trixton Brent, "I'm not a real estate dealer or an architect, but if I were in your place I'd take that carriage and hustle over to Jerry Shorter's as fast as I could and sign the lease." Howard looked at him in some surprise, as one who had learned that Trixton Brent's opinions were usually worth listening to. Characteristically, he did not like to display his ignorance.
Brent looked startled, then caught himself. He had known Flint for some time an adventurer, more or less unscrupulous, who had been the foreign representative of International Patents. Flint took off his coat and threw it on a chair with an air of assurance that seemed to increase Brent's anxiety, then began again to untie the bulky package. "Just a moment, Flint," cautioned Brent, stopping him.
"You funny little thing!" said Rose. "Why, no!" Dinah's chin pointed upwards. She looked for the moment almost aggressively happy. But the next her look went beyond Rose, and she started. Her expression altered, became suddenly tender and anxious. "There is Mrs. Everard!" she said softly. Rose looked round. "Ah! Captain Brent's Purple Empress!" she said. "How haggard the poor soul looks!"
"Nevertheless, while I know naught of Nan Brent's case, except that which is founded on hearsay evidence, I can condone her offense because I can understand it. She might have developed into a far worse girl than it appears from Donald's account she is.
Grace sat poking holes in an unoffending sheet of paper with her lead pencil. She wondered what Jean Brent's secret could possibly be, and how she could best reach this stubborn, self-centered freshman. And in her wholehearted effort to be of service to the girl, who apparently needed her help, she did not dream that she was laying the cornerstone of a house of trouble for herself.
Brent's yacht is homeward bound, is it not?" "I am not aware that there is any connection between Mr. Brent's yacht and my decision about the White Sulphur," answered Miss Milbourne haughtily. Then she turned to the person next her, a recumbent figure lying at full length on the grass.
From the hospital, Andrew Daney, avoiding the lighted main street, hastened to the Sawdust Pile. A light still burned in Caleb Brent's cottage; so Daney stood aloof in the vacant lot and waited. About ten o'clock, the front door opened, and, framed in the light of the doorway, the general manager saw Donald McKaye, and beside him Nan Brent.
In an effort to be cheerful and distract his son's thoughts, he attempted this homely badinage. "I'll give you another little tale in return, dad," Donald replied, endeavoring to meet his father's cheerful manner. "While we were away, a colony of riffraff from Darrow jumped old Caleb Brent's Sawdust Pile, and Daney was weak enough to let them get away with it. I'm somewhat surprised.
"It's the one I fell against!" She dropped on to it and laughed. "You weren't there, were you, years and years ago, when the bull chased me? That red bull of Mrs. Brent's? He was old and cross. No, of course you weren't." "I remember the beast. He had a broken horn." "Yes. Just a stump. It made him frightful. I dream about him now. And when you were running after me "
Then she turned sharply to Zita. "How did you come to be here?" she demanded. Zita was startled and confused. It lasted only a minute. Then, her mind made up, she replied, defiantly: "I came here to discover the secret of my birth. I have been told that I am Mr. Brent's daughter." Eva was stricken dumb with astonishment at this startling claim, but Locke laughed outright.
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