Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 11, 2025
"I'll try to be 'chummy' perhaps I'm not yet too old to learn the secret of friendliness. Your letter has made me think that I have missed much in shutting all young life out from mine as I have done. I want to reform in this respect if I can." When Cyrilla reached the front room she found Mrs. Plunkett there.
Then the stockings were filled up with doughnuts and jelly cookies and the money was put in an envelope and pinned to the little mother's jacket. "That baby is such a dear little fellow," said the sealskin lady gently. "He looks something like my little son. He died eighteen Christmases ago." Aunt Cyrilla put her hand over the lady's kid glove. "So did mine," she said.
Cyrilla read slowly and without comment. At last she said: "He got this from his mother, Lucia Rivi. Have you read her life?" "No. I've heard almost nothing about her, except that she was famous." "She was more than that," said Mrs. Brindley. "She was great, a great personality. She was an almost sickly child and girl. Her first attempts on the stage were humiliating failures.
If I don't marry him, in a few weeks, or months at most, he'll probably find out that I shall never be a great singer, and then I'd not be able to marry him if I wished to." "He IS a temptation," said Cyrilla. "That is, his money is and he personally is very nice." "I married a man I didn't care for," pursued Mildred. "I don't want ever to do that again.
They were talking so earnestly Keith was talking, for a wonder, and Mrs. Brindley listening that they did not see her. She went straight home. But as she was afoot, the journey took about half an hour. Cyrilla was already there, in a negligee, looking as if she had not been out of the little library for hours. She was writing a letter. Mildred strolled in and seated herself.
But when Aunt Cyrilla had put in as a finishing touch a big bouquet of pink and white everlastings, and tied the bulging covers down with a firm hand, Lucy Rose stood over the basket and whispered vindictively: "Some day I'm going to burn this basket when I get courage enough. Then there'll be an end of lugging it everywhere we go like a like an old market-woman."
As for the money, I think the mother is the one for it to go to. She's been telling me her story, and a pitiful one it is. Let's make up a little purse among us for a Christmas present." The idea met with favour. The khaki boy passed his cap and everybody contributed. The sealskin lady put in a crumpled note. When Aunt Cyrilla straightened it out she saw that it was for twenty dollars.
No one left me an income. So, I'm fighting for independence and that means for self-respect. Is self-respect sordid, Cyrilla!" And then Cyrilla understood in part, not altogether. She lived in the ordinary environment of flap-doodle and sweet hypocrisy and sentimentality; and none such can more than vaguely glimpse the realities. Toward the end of the summer Moldini said: "It's over.
And I mean to keep your letter and read it over every time I feel myself getting bitter and hard again." "Dear Miss Marshall, I'm so glad you liked it," said Cyrilla frankly. "We're all your friends and would be glad to be chummy with you. Only we thought perhaps we bothered you with our nonsense." "Come and see me sometimes," said Miss Marshall with a smile.
"Nor had I," returned Cyrilla easily, "until I began to talk about him. Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me." The idea amused Stanley. "He doesn't care a rap about women," said he. "I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time, but he soon ceased to be good-natured. He hates to be bored." As he came just then, they had to find another subject.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking