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McCain's intention to return again in the evening. Mr. McCain would kiss Mrs. Denby's hand slim, lovely, with a single gorgeous sapphire upon the third finger. "Good-by, my dear," he would say, "you have given me the most delightful afternoon of my life." For a moment Mrs. Denby's hand would linger on the bowed head; then Mr.
She went back into the Cottage and closed the door, resolved not to admit him a second time. But he passed by, going away by the road towards Denby's and the Towers, never even glancing at the Cottage. He was scarcely out of sight when a tax-cart with two men in it came quickly from the village and stopped. "You will excuse me, madam. I am Police-Inspector Thompson, from Grantley Thorpe.
She is my youngest. She's married to John Costrell's son at Denby's farm. Maisie. Her first little boy is just over a year old." Old Maisie brightened, interested, at the name. A young Maisie, so near at hand! "My own name!" she said. "To think of that!" Yet, after all, the name was a common one. "Called after her grandmother," said Ruth Thrale, equably chattily.
Preferably her cousin Keziah from the Towers. But she must see her and know that she was available. Tom Kettering, just departing for the Towers, was caught in time for Ruth to accompany him. On her arrival, finding that Keziah was available, she arranged to walk with her to Denby's Farm, and then on to the Cottage. Under six miles, all told! that was nothing. But there was no need for this.
Peter's toe; as Dick Denby's family ark appeared with all Denby's sweet young children kissing farewells to him out of the window; as those three charming Miss Baliols with whom he had that glorious day in the Catacombs; as friend after friend quitted the great city with kind greetings, warm pressures of the hand, and hopes of meeting in a yet greater city on the banks of the Thames, young Clive felt a depression of spirit.
Denby's coming, was lit by a single silver vase-lamp under an orange shade and by a fire of thin logs, for the April evening was damp with a hesitant rain. On the table, near the lamp, was a silver vase with three yellow tulips in it, and Cecil, wandering about, came upon a double photograph frame, back of the vase, that made her gasp. She picked it up and stared at it.
And, yet, what possible difference could it make should his uncle die suddenly in Mrs. Denby's house? Fall dead across her bed, or die kneeling beside it? Poor, twisted old fool, afraid even at the end that death might catch him out; afraid of a final undignified gesture. A motor blew its horn for the street crossing. Another girl laughed; a young, thin, excited girl, to judge by her laughter.
The ancient system of selecting public officials by examination as to classical scholarship was abolished the year after Colonel Denby's book was published, and the new ideal of the school is to train men and women for useful living, for practical things, and to combine culture with utility. Japanese education now has the same aim.
For Gwen had said: "Yes, this is your sister. Do you not see her?" She then went on: "My dear my dear! I am keeping you from church. I want not to. I want not to." "Never mind church for one day, dear," said Granny Marrable. "Parson he won't blame me, stopping away this once. More by token, if he does miss seeing me, he'll just think I'm at Denby's."
Buck gave the desired promise and, hastily saddling up, departed. About three miles from the ranch, he rode off to the side of the trail and dismounted beside a stunted mesquite. Under its twisting branches, he dug a hole with the toe of his boot and interred therein Miss Florence Denby's letter, torn into small fragments.
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