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Updated: June 16, 2025
The sigh led Vibart to look at her, and the look led him to the unwelcome conclusion that Irene "took after" her mother. It was certainly not from the sapless paternal stock that the girl had drawn her warm bloom: Mrs. Carstyle had contributed the high lights to the picture. Mrs. Carstyle caught his look and appropriated it with the complacency of a vicarious beauty.
Miss Carstyle was still beautiful almost as beautiful as when, two days earlier, against the leafy background of a June garden-party, he had seen her for the first time but her mother's expositions and elucidations cheapened her beauty as sign-posts vulgarize a woodland solitude. Mrs. Carstyle's eye was perpetually plying between her daughter and Vibart, like an empty cab in quest of a fare.
In a dingy office, with a single window looking out on a blank wall, he found Mr. Carstyle, in an alpaca coat, reading Montaigne. It evidently did not occur to him that Vibart had come on business, and the warmth of his welcome gave the young man a sense of furnishing the last word in a conjugal argument in which, for once, Mr. Carstyle had come off triumphant.
She's lost her house and her carriage, and she hasn't been allowed to be heroic." Vibart had listened attentively. "I wonder what Miss Carstyle thinks of it?" he mused. Mrs. Vance looked at him with a tentative smile. "I wonder what you think of Miss Carstyle?" she returned, His answer reassured her. "I think she takes after her mother," he said.
Ostensibly, the young man had come to ask, on his aunt's behalf, some question on a point at issue between herself and the Millbrook telephone company; but his purpose in offering to perform the errand had been the hope of taking up his intercourse with Mr. Carstyle where that gentleman's smile had left it. Vibart was not disappointed.
They have never misled me " her lids drooped retrospectively "and besides, I always tell Mr. Carstyle that on this point I will have no false pretences. Where truth is concerned I am inexorable, and I consider it my duty to let our friends know that our restricted way of living is due entirely to choice to Mr. Carstyle's choice. When I married Mr.
At length he turned to Vibart and said abruptly: "I made straight for the middle of the road, didn't I? If there had been a runaway I should have stopped it?" Vibart looked at him in surprise. "You would have tried to, undoubtedly, unless I'd had time to drag you away." Mr. Carstyle straightened his narrow shoulders. "There was no hesitation, at all events? I I showed no signs of avoiding it?"
Collis was among them, of course. The ceiling had come down on him." Mr. Carstyle wiped his forehead. Vibart sat looking away from him. "Two days later Meriton came back. I began to tell him the story, but he interrupted me. "'There was no one with him at the time, then? You'd left him alone? "'No, he wasn't alone. "'Who was with him? You said the sister was out. "'I was with him.
Now and then, at the close of one of Vibart's visits, Mr. Carstyle put on a mildewed Panama hat and accompanied the young man for a mile or two on his way home. The road to Mrs. Vance's lay through one of the most amiable suburbs of Millbrook, and Mr.
Carstyle seized a moment of tete-a-tete to confide in him that the dear child hated the idea of leaving, and was going only because her friend Mrs. Higby would not let her off. Of course, if it had not been for Mr. Carstyle's peculiarities they would have had their own seaside home at Newport, probably: Mrs.
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