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Updated: May 7, 2025
He maintained, however, that man should be everything to man, and he then enlarged on the duty of really cultivating affection, of its superiority to books, and on the pleasure and profit of self-denial. I do not mean to accuse Clem of downright hypocrisy.
'I assure you I have not seen Sybil for twenty-four hours, Lady Clem. As far as I can make out, she belongs entirely to her milliners. 'Of course; that is the only reason you come to see an ugly old woman like myself. I wonder you men don't take warning. On a fait des folies pour moi, and here I am, a poor rheumatic creature, with a false front and a bad temper.
Even a month ago, had Shuttleworth uttered such blasphemy within those walls Clem Sypher would have arisen in his wrath like a mad crusader and have cloven the blasphemer from skull to chine. To-day, he had sat motionless, petrified, scarcely able to feel. He knew that the man spoke truth.
There was always that air of superiority, that conscious patronage, as now, when Uncle Clem, breaking off his conversation with the invalid in the next room about the price of mutton on the hoof and the chances of the Democrats' getting in again, stopped fiddling with his thick plated watch chain and grinned across at big Tom to fling his undeviating flower of wit: "Runnin' all to beef, hain't ye, Tom, boy?
"Just as you say, Clem," her father assented. "Why not Brother Osson, he'a?" he suggested with a pleasure in the joke, whatever it was, that the minister's relation to Clementina involved. "I guess he can put off his visit to Boston long enough." "Well, I was thinking of him," said Clementina. "Will you ask him?" "Yes. I'll get round to it, in the mohning." "No-now; right away.
Dandie's sister, sitting by the side of Clem in her new Glasgow finery, chose that moment to observe the young laird. Aware of the stir of his entrance, the little formalist had kept her eyes fastened and her face prettily composed during the prayer. It was not hypocrisy, there was no one further from a hypocrite.
"I'm awfully sorry," blubbered Clem. "Oh, dear! I forgot my handkerchief." "Take mine." Polly put a wet little wad into her hand. "Oh, Clem, if you don't let me go down-town with you and buy that handkerchief case!" "Let you!" cried Clem. "You won't want to go with me, Polly. But I'm not going to work a handkerchief case." "Oh, yes, you are," declared Polly positively.
When Clem once had the idea in her mind, she got off from the bench, and Phronsie, watching anxiously from Polly's window for her return, saw the two girls hurrying across the lawn, their arms around each other and talking busily. And it wasn't but a moment or two, and she was flying over the grass to meet them.
Chris looked at him curiously. "You 'm right. An' that, for some queer reason, puts me in mind of the other wan, Martin Grimbal. He was very pleasant to me." "He's too late, thank God!" "Ess, fay! An' if he'd comed afore 'e, Clem, he'd been tu early. Theer's awnly wan man in the gert world for me." "My gypsy!" "But I didn't mean that. He wouldn't look at me, not even if I was a free woman.
Even when he wrote her a dutiful letter from Paris to the telegram he had merely replied, "Sorry; impossible" full of everything save Emmy and their plans for the future, she did not forgive him. How dared he consider himself fit to travel by himself? His own servant qualified his doings as outlandish. "They'll make a terrible mess of their honeymoon," she said to Clem Sypher.
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