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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I wonder why Rupert has not come to supper," Mildred Caniper said, changing the subject, and Helen wondered pityingly why one who had known unhappiness should not be eager to spare others. "But," Miriam began, her interest overcoming dread of her stepmother's prejudices, "we shall have to wear hats for John's wedding.
She found her sewing and signed to him to put her chair into its place, and when she had stitched steadily for a time she said in pleasant tones, "George, you are like a bad person in a book." "I'm not up to this kind of talk. You told me yourself that Mrs. Caniper hardly needs a doctor. What does he come for, then? Is it for you?" "No, it is not." "Do you like the man?"
"Yes, yes parts of it." "Miriam," said Mildred Caniper, "Alfred is not a geography book." "But he ought to be," she dared. "And," the cool voice went on, "you never cared for geography, I remember." Miriam sat back sullenly, stiffening until her prettily shod feet reached an inch further along the fender.
Uncle Alfred wrote a short note from Calais, and on the day when old Halkett was taken to his grave another letter came to say that Philip Caniper was dead before the travellers could reach him. "Then we're poor little orphans, like George," Miriam said, and, with the peering look which asked how far she might venture, she added, "And, like George, we have our Mrs. Biggs."
Haven't I helped you?" "Oh, yes, you have! I'll come, but help me up." Her laughter bubbled out. "I'm afraid you're having rather a busy night!" Mildred Caniper was sitting on the edge of the bed. Swinging a foot, and with her curly hair hanging to her shoulders, she had a very youthful look. "So she has come back," she said. Her voice was small and secret. "I thought she wouldn't.
He was probably looking at her now and clicking His tongue in vexation. "There's Helen Caniper. She ought to have married the doctor. That's what I meant her to do. What's gone wrong? Miriam? I ought to have watched her. Dear, dear, dear! I oughtn't to have set them going at all if I couldn't keep them straight."
She lifted her arms and dropped them in a kind of pleading for mercy from those whom she had served faithfully; then she smoothed her face and went into the house. In the drawing-room, Mildred Caniper was sitting on the sofa, and near her John and Lily had disposed themselves like guests. Helen stopped in the doorway. "Then the light in your house meant nothing," she said reproachfully.
Her glance pitied Miriam. "But this was early in the evening. Some one came in very late. Rupert, perhaps." "No, it was me," Helen said. "I," Mildred Caniper corrected. "Yes. "Did I hear voices?" "Did you?" Helen returned in another tone and with an innocence that surprised herself and revealed the deceit latent in the mouth of the most truthful.
I love him," she said softly. Now, she did not lie. The pity that had taught her to love Mildred Caniper had the same lesson in regard to George, and that night, when she looked into the garden and saw him standing there, because he had been forbidden the house, she leaned from her bedroom window and held out her hands and ran downstairs to speak to him. "You looked so lonely," she told him.
I want to know if this is true." "Do you think it is?" "I'm afraid it's very likely." "Oh, dear!" she sighed, "I don't know what to do about it. A person without opinions is just nothing, and you really were being very silly just now. I hate jokes about marrying." "H'm, they are rather feeble," Zebedee owned. "Vulgar, I think," she said, with her little air of Mildred Caniper.
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