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Updated: June 21, 2025
The look of gloom disappeared from Miss Butterworth's eyes. "Then I may return home in peace," she cried. "It has been a desperate five hours for me, and I feel well shaken up. Will you escort me to my carriage?" Miss Butterworth did not look shaken up. Indeed, in Mr. Gryce's judgment, she had never appeared more serene or more comfortable.
"All that any feller knows I know," said Jim, "an' I've never telled nobody in Sevenoaks." "Jim Fenton, you needn't be afraid of me." "Oh, I ain't. I like ye better nor any woman I seen." "But you needn't be afraid to tell me," said Miss Butterworth, blushing. "An' will ye make the clo'es?" "Yes, I'll make the clothes, if I make them for nothing, and sit up nights to do it."
"If she had been a woman like you, I should; but she is a deep one, Miss Butterworth; too deep for the success of a little ruse like mine. Are you ready?" I was not, but it did not take me long to be so, and before an hour had elapsed I was seated in Mrs. Desberger's parlor in Ninth Street. Miss Oliver was in, and ere long made her appearance. She was dressed in street costume.
"Certainly, sir; but I had little idea of the significance we might come to attach to it. These words are connected, then, with the girl I saw. And she is not Evelyn or he would not have repeated in this note the bird's catch-word, 'Remember Evelyn! I wonder if she is Evelyn?" proceeded Miss Butterworth, pointing to the one large picture which adorned the wall. "We may call her so for the nonce.
"It was his ignorance, Miss Butterworth, his total ignorance of the whole affair that led him into the inconsistencies he manifested. Let me present his case as I already have his brother's. He knew that his wife had come to New York to appeal to his father, and he gathered from what she said that she intended to do this either in his house or on the dock.
"More like a monkey," replied the Major; "but it is time to go to bed; so, good-night." The caravan proceeded on the following morning, and by noon they arrived at the Mission station of Butterworth, which was about one hundred and forty miles from the colonial boundaries.
Good-night!" said Miss Butterworth, rising and making for the door. "Dear," said Mrs. Snow, springing and catching her by the arm, "don't you think you ought to put on something more? It's very chilly to-night." "Not a rag. I'm hot. I believe I should roast if I had on a feather more." "Wouldn't you like Mr. Snow to go home with you? He can go just as well as not," insisted Mrs. Snow.
He knew the people a great deal better than they knew him, or even themselves. Miss Butterworth called at the house of the Rev. Solomon Snow, who, immediately upon her entrance, took his seat in his arm-chair, and adjusted his bridge. The little woman was so combative and incisive that this always seemed a necessary precaution on the part of that gentleman.
His portrait occasionally appeared in the picture papers as "one of the young lions of Fleet Street," but his enemies preferred to describe him as one of Lord Butterworth's jackals Lord Butterworth being the millionaire proprietor of an influential group of newspapers which, during the war, had stood for "the last drop of blood and the last shilling" rallying cry.
I'll pay ye, ye know." Miss Butterworth thought she could, and on that promise Jim remained in Sevenoaks. How he got out of the house he did not remember, but he went away very much exalted. What he did during those two days it did not matter to him, so long as he could walk over to Miss Butterworth's each night, and watch her light from his cover in the trees.
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