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Updated: June 25, 2025
Cyril's handsome face flushed slightly before his brother's scrutinizing gaze; but he answered with a certain little ill-concealed embarrassment: "Oh, I didn't say so, didn't I? Well, she WAS a girl then, of course; a certain Miss Clifford. She got in at Chetwood. Her people live somewhere down there near Tilgate. At least, so I gathered from what she told me."
"Father, father," he cried, loaning forward in his anguish and clutching the oak chair, "you don't mean to tell me those fellows, the Warings, that we met at Chetwood Court, are your lawful sons and that THAT was why you bought the landscape with the snake in it?" Kelmscott, of Tilgate, bent his proud head down to the table unchecked.
With a smile she watched the stubby pen crawl over some papers, ending at length with a flourish, dignified and characteristic. The consul-general turned his head. His kindly face had the settled expression of indulgent inquiry. The expression changed swiftly into one of delight. "Elsa Chetwood!" he cried, seizing her hands. "Well, well! I am glad to see you.
Paul leaned back in his chair, twiddling the letter between his fingers, and looked smilingly out on the grey autumn rack of clouds. There was a pleasant and flattering intimacy in the invitation: pleasant because it came from a pretty woman; flattering because the woman was a princess, widow of a younger son of a Royal Balkan house. She lived at Chetwood.
"Quick, Chet!" added Jess. "Don't let that horrid dog hurt that kitty." "Chetwood!" shrieked Laura again, knowing more about the inhabitants of the woods than her chum. "Chetwood! Stop it! Come back! That's a polecat!" "What?" gasped all the girls, and then Bobby began to shriek with laughter. It was too, too funny with Jess begging the boys not to let the Barnacle hurt "kitty."
"It wouldn't be proper," she replied, with a flash of her old-time self. "Won't you please come out?" She heard something click as it struck the floor. "Miss Chetwood?" he said. "Yes . . . Oh, you've been hurt!" she exclaimed, noting the gash upon his forehead. "Hurt? Oh, I ran against something when I wasn't looking," he explained lamely.
"It has been rubbed off." "Then you admit it was merely plate," laughed Chet. "But say! why didn't you think of the girl who helped you out before?" "Who? What girl?" "That Red Cross girl. What's her name?" "Janet Steele!" "That's the one. Some pippin," said Chet with enthusiasm. I saw her this afternoon and helped her plow home " "Chetwood Belding! Wait till Jess Morse hears about it." "Aw "
The consul-general jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "I am glad, very glad. Everything will turn out all right now. If you wish, I'll tell Miss Chetwood the news." "I was going to ask you to do that," responded Warrington. The mention of Elsa took the brightness out of his face.
He is still worried about that fifty dollars he may have to dig down into his jeans for if your father sticks to what he said he'd do." Chetwood had a cheerful word, however, despite his serious aspect. "Have you seen the ice, Lance?" he demanded, brightening up. "Not to-day, old boy." "It's scrumptious just!" exclaimed the big fellow. "They have been shaving it, and have got it all roped off."
Chetwood; and Arthur had not known any more than he had. What irony! Ten years wasted . . . for nothing! Warrington laughed aloud. A weakness seized him, like that of a man long gone hungry. "Buck up, Paul," warned the good Samaritan. "All this kind of knocks the wind out of you. I know. But what I've offered you is in good faith. Will you take it?" "Yes," simply. "That's the way to talk.
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