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Updated: June 1, 2025
"I'm going to take Burdon home." "I need somebody to mind me," said Burdon, flashing Mary one of his violent smiles; and turning to go he said to Helen over his shoulder, "Come, child. We're late." "He calls her 'child'..." thought Mary. That night Wally was a visitor at the house on the hill and when Mary saw how subdued he was how chastened he looked her heart went out to him.
But she did worry about the growing intimacy between Helen and Burdon and, one evening when Helen was driving her up to the house from the factory, Mary tried to talk to her. "If I were you, Helen," she said, "I don't think I'd go around with Burdon Woodward quite so much or come to the office to see him quite so often." Helen blew the horn, once, twice and again.
Susie was convulsed with laughter at his pompousness, and he turned to her with the utmost gravity. 'Madam, your laughter is more soft in mine ears than the singing of Bulbul in a Persian garden. Dr Porhoët interposed with introductions. The magician bowed solemnly as he was in turn made known to Susie Boyd, and Margaret, and Arthur Burdon. He held out his hand to the grim Irish painter.
Noticing Helen's silence he added more carelessly than before, "You know how some girls act if you are any way pleasant to them." It was one of those trifling incidents which occasionally seem to have the deepest effect upon life. That very afternoon, when Mary had tried to warn her cousin, Helen had gone to the factory apparently to bring Mary home, but in reality to see Burdon.
"Somebody with a key to the desk. He must have had a cigarette in his hand when he shut the drawer, and the ashes jarred off without being noticed " Irresistibly her thoughts turned to Burdon Woodward, with his gold cigarette case and match box. "It was he who gave me the keys," she thought. She sighed. A sense of walking among pitfalls took possession of her.
I heard him hurry off; and it seemed an hour before he came back, while I sat listening to a terrible moaning, and smelling the spilt sherry and the oily knocked-out lamp. Then Sir John came in, quite pale, but looking full of fight, and the first thing he did was to stoop down over Edward Gunning and take a pistol from his breast. "You take that, Burdon," he said, "and use it if we are attacked."
"I am told, on excellent authority, that her father keeps an American dry-goods store," said Sir Thomas Burdon, looking supercilious. "My uncle has already suggested pork-packing, Sir Thomas." "Dry-goods! What are American dry-goods?" asked the Duchess, raising her large hands in wonder, and accentuating the verb. "American novels," answered Lord Henry, helping himself to some quail.
"Oh, yes," she suddenly said to herself, "I knew there was something.... I wonder why the accountants stared at Burdon so...." Far away, that same moon was watching another scene a ship on the Southern sea throbbing its way to New York. It was a steamer just out of Rio, its drawing rooms and upper decks filled with tourists doubly happy because they were going home.
We talked steadily from half past six till midnight. 'Or, rather, she talked and you listened with the delighted attention of a happy lover. Arthur Burdon had just arrived in Paris. He was a surgeon on the staff of St Luke's, and had come ostensibly to study the methods of the French operators; but his real object was certainly to see Margaret Dauncey.
"Any one would think I was a wild beast," I said to myself, as I went back and gave my message, finding all three in the room just as I had left them when I went away. Mr Barclay followed me out, and as soon as we were in the hall, "Burdon," he says, "you have a bunch of small keys, haven't you?" "Yes, Master Barclay, down in my pantry."
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