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Updated: June 26, 2025
In ten minutes she returned with a smart little hat, and in answer to Deena's remonstrances, she tossed the condemned one into the wood fire that was burning on the dining-room hearth; at the same instant the automobile arrived at the gate. Deena, nearly in tears, pinned the unwelcome purchase on her head, and followed her sister to the street.
The thought that raced across Deena's mind was what dull reading it would be, but she recognized the impropriety of the reflection and said, simply: "It is too bad we haven't a little more money."
Deena's eyes were still blinded by the midday glare, but she managed to cross the great drawing room without stumbling over an ottoman, and, pushing aside the heavy curtain that shut off the library, she walked directly into Stephen's arms. As Mrs. Star saw fit to leave her undisturbed, it would be sheer presumption for a humble person like the writer to disregard that compelling example.
Deena's attention was not called to his sympathies, and it was called to his reputation. He proposed to Miss Shelton in a few well-chosen words, placed his mother's old-fashioned diamond ring on her finger, and urged forward the preparations for the wedding with an impatience that bespoke an ardent disposition. Later Deena learned that his one servant had grown reckless in joints after Mrs.
A vision of Simeon with his gold-rimmed spectacles and stooped figure mounted on horseback in the midst of a party of Indians, whirling his bolas over his head and shouting, presented itself to Deena's imagination. The carriage was waiting, and, obeying Mrs. Star's motion to get in first, Simeon Ponsonby's wife fell back on the seat and laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
It had all come into Deena's life for a few brief hours, and was gone, but something remained something that had not been there when she got up that morning: the knowledge that she was a very beautiful woman, and more than a suspicion that a crisis was impending in her life. As she turned to face the house the remembrance of the unpaid hat bill laid a cold clutch on her heart.
In Deena's the ideas barely flowed to the ink; in Stephen's they flowed so fast they couldn't get themselves written down he used contractions, he left out whole words; he showed the interest he felt in the work he left behind in endless questions in regard to his department; he thanked Stephen more heartily than he had ever done by word of mouth for suggesting him for the appointment, and finally he gave such an account of his voyage as one intelligent man gives another.
Fortunately for Deena's peace of mind, it was Ben who figured in these reflections as the exponent of what a husband should be, and she had no suspicion that it was Stephen French who had waked her from her domestic coma.
If she had had her hair parted in the middle, and had been mending Ponsonby's stockings under the drop-light in her parlor, he might have done so, braving the needle's point; but, looking as she did to-day, it seemed safer to refrain. It was six o'clock when the auto stopped at Deena's door.
Polly, in high spirits at her success, next declared that she must arrange Deena's hair, and she pushed her into a low chair in front of the dressing table, and fluffed the golden mane high above the temples, and coiled and pinned it into waves and curls that caught the sunlight on their silken sheen and gave it back.
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