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Updated: May 23, 2025
You don't know what I'd do with it, don't know what sort of business woman I am, or anything." "I know enough to satisfy myself," Claybrook assured her soothingly. "And I'm not giving you the money. You can write me out a note for it. Six per cent. is better than four," he added. And then he smiled. Two days later Maida Jones moved out and Mary Louise saw her no more.
Sometimes, where they had been held on the Sunday, a sort of compromise was effected, and, as at Claybrook, 'the church was filled on Sunday, and the Monday kept as a feast. The parish perambulations customary in Rogation Week were generally less of a solemnity in the eighteenth than they had been in the seventeenth and preceding centuries.
And Mary Louise welcomed the suggestion with relief. For another hour they sat back in deep chairs, relaxed, relieved of responsibility. And then Claybrook, straightening in his chair, said: "Think I'll have to get a new car. The old wagon's been losing compression. Hasn't any get-away at all these days."
She and Claybrook sat down in the back seat together, while Joe took the wheel. In about thirty minutes they were climbing a steep hill that lead out of Fenimore Park to one of the back lanes. "Takes the grade all right," commented Claybrook to her, and she wished that he would not continue to include her in the discussion.
"I see," she replied, rather softly, and he could feel that she was watching him and that Claybrook was, in a way, standing by in a condescending attitude, ready to do her bidding. He was anxious to be off, anxious to be alone. "Thank you very much, however," he said, and bowed to Claybrook. He avoided Mary Louise's eyes. He backed away from the car and lifted his hat. "Good-bye."
Claybrook, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. And apparently sensing the tension in Joe's mind, and seeking to lighten it a bit, she volunteered: "Captain Claybrook is going to help us put the tea room across. He was one of our best little patrons in Camp Taylor." Claybrook looked self-conscious; Joe even more embarrassed.
But the idea was suddenly so utterly distasteful that it seemed impossible. And she having him, Claybrook, take him, Joe, back to work. The smart of it was intolerable. "No," he repeated firmly, "I'm not going back." And then he gazed off across the hood of the motor into the vacant field beyond.
For, having sighted them, he was coming on steadfastly, past pitfalls that yawned, with a smile upon his face. Joe felt a peculiar exulting glow pass over him, whether at the sight of a familiar, friendly face or for some less creditable reason. Distress was plainly written on the face of Mary Louise. Claybrook talked on, unconscious of what was coming. And then Mr.
But he was amused, felt singularly light-hearted instead of embarrassed. Who can say he was depraved? His voice was kind and cajoling as he replied: "What are you doing in town, Uncle Buzz? Isn't the store open to-day? Mr. Claybrook! Mr. Mosby!" Uncle Buzz acknowledged the honour and then he turned on Joe a dignified but hurt surprise.
"Man that's buildin' it knows a thing or two about colour tones." Mary Louise bent eagerly forward to look. It seemed as though he were speaking directly to her. Claybrook remained leaning back in the corner. They turned a curve and the bridge passed out of view below. They gained the macadam of the lane that led out from the park gate into the country.
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