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Updated: June 15, 2025


"Well, and yet you won't let me come near my darling little sister and my sweet little brother to tell 'em all about it?" "But I'm not keeping you from them, Mr. Chater. You have had plenty of time." "Time! Why, I only got back yesterday!" "You have been in here this afternoon." "Ah, they were shy. They're better when you are here." She had finished her task, and she turned to him. "Mr.

"No," she cried hurriedly "no; I would not go with you in any case." A shadow flickered upon Bob's face. "What do you mean?" "I mean what I say. Please let me pass." "I want to be friends with you. Why can't you let me?" "Please let me pass. Mr. Chater." Bob lay back. He said with a laugh, "Well, I'm not stopping you, am I?" She hesitated a moment.

A fierce quarrel must have ensued, and Chater was poisoned and concealed, Woodroffe, of course, believing he had killed him. My father entered the study again, and seeing only Woodroffe there, did not know what had occurred. Some words probably arose, when my father again turned and left.

And then, unhappily, George leaned against this castle wall; provoked the crash. "Till then, dear," he said, "you will stay with these Chater people. I know you hate it; but it will be only a short time, a few weeks at most." Instantly her gay twittering ceased. Trouble drove glee from her eyes. Memory chased dreams from her brain. Distress tore down the gay colours from her cheeks.

Chater will let me stay, what have I to mind? I shall be better off than before, if anything. Mrs. Chater has always been well, sharp. She may be a little worse there's nothing in that. But this Bob Chater, since he came, has been the worst part of it. And as things are now, his mother watchful and he what shall I say? angry, ashamed why, he will pay no further attention to me.

The servant who admitted him declared that the man had said he had an appointment with his master, and that no card was necessary. He, however, gave the name of Chater." "Chater!" I cried, starting up. "Are you certain of that name?" "I only know what Cowan told me," was my uncle's reply. "But do you know him?" "Not at all. Only I've heard that name before," I said.

"Little you would have cared," cried she, "if a miracle had not saved my life this afternoon!" Mr. Chater stood aghast. "My dearest! Saved you! From what?" His dearest bitterly inquired: "What does it matter to you? You take no interest.

His words outcome of views forcibly expressed by his partners in Mincing Lane that morning were the foolhardy action of one who pokes a tigress with a stick. The tigress shook herself. "Now, I wonder what you mean by that?" she challenged. Mr. Chater dropped the stick; precipitantly fled. "Of course it was all new to Bob," he granted, throwing a bone.

"With some excuse he left him in the study, and then warned my mother and myself to prepare to leave. But while we were packing, it appeared that Chater, who had followed, was shown into the study by the butler, or rather he entered there himself, being well acquainted with the house. Thus the two men, now bitter enemies, met.

Chater lashed herself with the recollection: "Nothing of the kind!" she burst. "Nothing of the kind! What did the man say to you when you asked what was the matter?" "I quite forget." "You do not forget." "My dear, I really and truly do forget." "For the hundredth time, then, let me tell you. He said that if you pushed your ugly mug into it he would knock off your blooming head."

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