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Updated: May 7, 2025
Why, so he is so he is!" said Bellingham, with delight in the discovery. "Of course he is!" "All you have to do," pursued Corey, "is to give him time, and he'll found a fortune and a family, and his children's children will be cutting ours in society. Half of our great people have come up in that way.
He knows that the man who secures America's adherence to the League of Nations is as certain of a permanent place in the scrolls of fame as those who laid the foundations of freedom or those who preserved it in the days of fiery trial. To a famous correspondent, Mr. Herbert Corey, who put the question, "Why do you wish to be President?" The answer rings true to the man.
But apparently he's resigned to his sin; he isn't going to give her up." "I'm glad to say, for the sake of human nature, that SHE isn't resigned little as I like her," cried Mrs. Corey. Her husband shrugged again. "Oh, there mustn't be any indecent haste. She will instinctively observe the proprieties.
That is what the young people have to do elsewhere, and that is the only logical result of our position here. It is absurd for us to have any feeling about what we don't interfere with." "Oh, people do interfere with their children's marriages very often," said Mrs. Corey.
Corey turned to him in a daze. "I I called to speak with you about a matter But it's so late now. I'll I'll see you to-morrow." "No time like the present," said Lapham, with a fierceness that did not seem referable to Corey. He had his hat still on, and he glared at the young man out of his blue eyes with a fire that something else must have kindled there. "I really can't now," said Corey weakly.
Corey looked at her with misgiving, hardening into dislike. "No," she breathed vaguely. "My son spoke of the fine effect of the lights about the hotel from your cottage at Nantasket," she said to Mrs. Lapham. "Yes, they're splendid!" exclaimed that lady. "I guess the girls went down every night with him to see them from the rocks." "Yes," said Mrs.
"Of course," assented Corey. "Little off your feed to-day," said Walker, glancing at Corey's plate. "I got up with a headache." "Well, sir, if you're like me you'll carry it round all day, then. I don't know a much meaner thing than a headache unless it's earache, or toothache, or some other kind of ache I'm pretty hard to suit, when it comes to diseases.
"Lock the door!" she ordered, and her mother mechanically obeyed. "I don't want Irene in here. There's nothing the matter. Only, Mr. Corey offered himself to me last night." Her mother remained looking at her, helpless, not so much with amaze, perhaps, as dismay. "Oh, I'm not a ghost! I wish I was! You had better sit down, mother. You have got to know all about it." Mrs.
Corey imagined some reliefs to this suffering, some qualifications of this sublimity in a girl she had disliked so distinctly; but she saw none in her son's behaviour, and she gave him her further sympathy. She tried to praise Penelope, and said that it was not to be expected that she could reconcile herself at once to everything. "I shouldn't have liked it in her if she had.
"You look worse than I do, cobber. Worse than even that granddaughter of mine. She was looking for you!" "Sheila?" Gordon jerked the word out. "Yeah. She left a note for you. I put it up in your room." Mother Corey chuckled. "Why don't you two get married and make your fighting legal?" "Thanks for the coffee," Gordon threw back at him. He was already mounting the stairs.
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