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"Do you think he would recognise in either of us one of the 'charming girls of Marchmont' that his mother painted?" "Maybe it's only a book-agent after all," suggested Claribel, hopefully. But the knocking sounded again, and Wilma shook her head.
I took Claribel in my arms. "Vos passeports," they demanded. "Here are our American passports," said Hermione: "we are Americans." "Yes, Americans, republicans!" cried Mrs. Leare: "we fraternize with all republicans in France." "Aristos," said a man between his teeth, glancing at her dress and at that of Hermione. "What does he say?" cried Mrs. Leare, who did not catch the word.
When he had taken sufficient time to study her character, he decided that the inelegant mirth, and ungoverned vanity of Amaranthé were preferable to the dawdling insipidity of Claribel. After this decision Lionel ceased to be a visitor at the castle. The pride of Amaranthé had never before experienced so severe a wound.
Is it such as you'd be willin' to have Claribel wear?" "It's a real beauty!" Mrs. Wilson answered, cordially; but she could not refrain from adding, while Miss West was doing up the hat, and Ellen surreptitiously tried on a black poke bonnet, "Now, don't you spile her, Lucindy! She's a nice little girl as ever was, but you ain't no more fit to bring up a child than the cat!" Lucindy did not hear.
To Claribel and Wilma, not yet out of their teens, repairs on the old house did not seem half so important as their own personal ones of shoe soles and skirt braids. It was their sister Agnes, ten years older, who shouldered all such worries.
And the Nurse-Queen, looking over her kingdom for somebody to lavish her new joy on, saw Claribel lying in bed, looking at the ceiling and reading there all the tragedy of her broken life, all her despair.
She had so little considered Claribel in that light, that she had not deigned to notice Lionel's attention to her, which indeed her vanity whispered was merely a feint to pique herself, and to give him an opportunity of still hovering near her.
He wished Rosie had been there to hear. And just then Rosie came. She carried the baby, still faintly odorous of violets, held tight in unaccustomed arms. She looked awkward and conscious, but her amused smile at herself was half tender. "Hello, Claribel," she said. "How are you? Just look here, Al! What do you think of this?" Al got up sheepishly and looked at the child.
There was a hum of amazement and horror from the spectators, but the senator appeared not to notice it. He whirled around upon the tips of his toes, kicked right and left in a graceful manner, and startled a bald-headed man in the front row by casting a languishing glance in his direction. Suddenly Claribel Sudds, who happened to be present, uttered a scream and sprang to her feet.
"I hadn't realised the condition of our family latch-string until I saw it through his eyes. Then I began to trace it back and found that it began in the door of a pioneer log cabin; and oh, what do you think, Claribel, the two ancestors we are proudest of, the ones we all quote the oftenest, and plume ourselves the most on being their descendants, had to dig and delve for everything they got.
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