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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Sure I see them." "One of 'em's the famous Mrs. Paxton, who " "I know." "Met her last autumn at " He rose suddenly to his feet, and advanced to meet the two women. "Hello, there! Glad to see you." Mrs. Paxton's cool demure face broke into a delighted smile. "Why, Harry!" she exclaimed. "Miss Coles, let me introduce Mr. Colemain."
Either I'll go to Paris and be useful, or I'll begin a new life with the girl I love who loves me." Late in February Harry Colemain joined me at Palm Beach. He had wintered at Aiken, and I had all the Aiken news from him. The place had never been so full people who usually went abroad, etc., etc. some delightful new people, about all the old standbys. It was not a sporting winter.
I was feeling very sentimental by the time I got to bed. I had had a long, and I suppose maudlin, talk with Harry Colemain on the beauties of matrimony. We had maintained the Fultons against all comers, as our ideal example of that institution. "Just think," I said, "this very night is the first one that John has been away from her since they were married. That's going some. That's some record.
"Evelyn and Dawson," she explained, "were crowding the living-room, so I thought of this. Is John in the Club?" "He was, but he said good-night to Harry Colemain and me, and I think he went home. . . . How is everything? I saw you and John from afar, walking together. I knew you could run because I've seen you play tennis, but I didn't suppose you'd ever learned to walk.
Colemain, having pushed a bell, pulled up a big chair and joined us. "We were saying that the average woman we know is technically good." "You bet she is!" said Colemain. "She has to be! If she wasn't how could she ever put over the things she does put over? And as a rule her husband isn't technically good and so she has power over him.
They were five wonderful days, during which we borrowed no trouble from the past or the future; five days during which we agreed to cross our bridges only when we came to them. On that fifth day I received a long letter from Harry Colemain dated Palm Beach. To begin with he told me about his wife's failure of affection and their domestic smash-up. He told me going down in the train.
"I think he liked me, and I know I liked him!" Fulton asked me to dinner, but I refused, and so it was nearly four days before I saw Lucy again. In the meanwhile Harry Colemain told me more about the Palm Beach trip. The ammunition inquiries had, it seemed, strengthened Fulton's nerves; there had been no repetition of the hysterics.
Fulton's most intimate friend was a boy named Lansing, who made a practice of cutting open dead things to see what was inside of them. My most intimate friend was Harry Colemain, and we were mixed up in all sorts of deviltries together. To me he has been always a faithful friend and a charming companion, but of his career, what can I say that is really pleasant?
A man loved and beloved falls into habits of passion for which there is no cure but death or old age. Yet a man would readily believe that separation might affect him like an opiate, and it must have been in this belief that Fulton determined to accompany Harry Colemain on a trip to Palm Beach.
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