Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 22, 2025
Consuello asked, opening the door and stepping inside, returning a moment later to hold it open for him to enter. The room was exceptionally large, with rafters across the ceiling. At one end was a huge fireplace and rugs were scattered over a smooth but unpolished floor. Betty rose from an easy chair as he entered. She had been reading. John saw that she was slender, dark-eyed, rather pretty.
Not for much longer, he realized, could he keep his mother's feelings against her from Consuello. Late in the afternoon, when the clatter of the telegraph instruments and the typewriter had lulled, and tired men lounged, squatted on desks and tilted back in chairs in the local room discussing the events of the day, John and Brennan were summoned to the publisher's private office.
However she received Gibson's salutatory remark she gave no hint of her feeling in the tone of her voice. "When are you going to show her through a newspaper office, Gallant?" Gibson was still smiling. Consuello replied before John could speak. "Whenever you and I can find time, I'm sure," she said. "You'll excuse me for a moment; I must hurry along so I won't keep you waiting long, Reggie.
I confess I'm a perfect ignoramus about such things." A few minutes later they left the studio, Gibson offering to convey John to his home in his automobile. "As often as I can I call for Consuello and take her to her home," he explained. "We are both so busy these days we have little other time in which to see each other.
That love of the "niceness of conventionality," as Consuello had described it; that irresistible desire to live an easy life when he should have worked to restore his family fortune; had led him into trouble.
Gallant would eventually learn about it and I wanted to surprise him myself." "I'm proud of my Consuello," Gibson said, patting her hand and speaking to John. "She is famous really, truly famous far more, I'm afraid than you or I will ever be, Gallant. Still, she deserves it, and we don't that is, I don't, at least.
Risking those reprimanding eyes again, John stepped to one side to enable himself to see around the man who was in front of him, blocking his view of the set. He saw Consuello, a strange, sad Consuello, her face ghastly pale under the bluish white light, her naturally beautiful features hidden under a mask of paint and powder, but Consuello, just the same.
On his way home John decided to make one final effort to change his mother's attitude toward Consuello. He planned it all very carefully. First he would tell her of how his salary had been doubled and then he would turn over to her the bonus check to be banked.
P. Q. said it was too late to get anything Gibson might say if they located him into the last edition for that day. He instructed Brennan to see Gibson as early as possible in the morning. "And suppose you take Gallant along with you. He seems to have got acquainted with Gibson," he added. "And Consuello," appended Brennan.
The next day, Saturday, he telephoned to Consuello early in the morning, soon after he reached the office, in order to catch her before she left for the studio. "I was just about to call you," she said. "Did you get my note?" "Yes." "I'm so sorry, but it will be impossible for me to get home, tomorrow. My director insists that we go out on location in the morning. You understand, don't you?"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking