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Updated: May 7, 2025
So it chanced that Milt was still inescapably accompanied by Mr. Pinky Parrott, that evening, when he saw Claire's Gomez standing in the yard at Barmberry's and pulled up. Pinky had voluntarily promised not to use his eloquence on Claire, nor to try to borrow money from Mr. Boltwood. Without ever having quite won permission to stay, he had stayed.
For him the escapade with the escaped nun would have been a joke, and he had not thought how differently Louis must have regarded it. If the lad had really fled, and his friends must learn of it, Sister Claire's share in the matter would have to remain a profound secret.
"I could kill you now," he was thinking ironically, "and end all question of your loving Claire." Philip, too, was awake. He had seen the hot flush that came into Claire's face that evening, and he knew that she had been troubled during the supper. He wondered if she were ill. Then suddenly he asked himself, "Is she in love with one of us?"
By some hidden, mysterious force that was in her, or the mere commanding dimensions of her frame, Claire's companion had brought him to a halt. She lifted her charge gently up on to the step, pausing herself, before she should mount the platform, to close the girl's umbrella. "Step lively! Step lively!" the conductor urged insistently, reaching for his signal-strap.
For the moment a proud smile relaxed his prematurely old, gloomy features. His inventor's vanity, his pride in his renown, above all, the idea of repairing thus magnificently the wrong done to the family by his wife, gave him a moment of true happiness. He pressed Claire's hands and murmured, as in the old days: "I am very happy! I am very happy!" But what a difference in tone!
Claire's sorrow filled the place of the coquetry which was contrary to her nature, the lack of which had always been a defect in her husband's eyes. He was one of that strange type of men who love to make conquests. Sidonie, capricious and cold as she was, responded to that whim of his heart.
"Where do you go on Sundays, Miss Gifford? I say, we must arrange another tea like this. Lots of good tea places in town. We must sample them together. What do you say, Miss Gifford?" Claire's answers were politely evasive, and presently he began to grow restless, and finally pulled out his watch, and jumped to his feet. "How time flies! I had no idea it was so late. I must run.
I'll bring her back early." "If Marion thinks " But Marion, who had stood silent and anxious until then, did not reply to Claire's glance of inquiry. She heard the last words as if in a dream. But dreams were coming true these days; miracle followed miracle. With a stifled cry she ran past them, and into her room.
"Claire dead;" then this must be her mother, and I, Jasper Trenoweth, was lying here with Claire's mother bending over me. How came we so? What had happened, that and once more the shadow of oblivion swept down and enfolded me. She was still there, kneeling beside me, chafing my hands and every now and then speaking words of tender solicitude. How white her hair was!
And she pointedly ignored the fact that the proposed interview need not have interrupted Claire's visit, since it and the journey involved could easily have been accomplished in the course of a day. "I understand perfectly, thank you. I will go upstairs and pack now. Perhaps there is a train I could catch before lunch?" "The twelve-thirty. That will give you the afternoon in town.
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