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Updated: May 18, 2025
Manson said softly, "but I don't believe we've changed much. We're too bred in the bone." "Do we want the old times back?" asked Mrs. Bowers, to whom the past years had been kind. "For some things, yes, and for others, no. Living's a great deal more expensive, and my husband's income is just the same," put in Mrs. Dibbott after a pause.
Dibbott and were in close conversation amongst the perennials, appealing now and then to Dibbott in order that there might be no mistake about it.
It may be that it was in the silence and mysterious appeal of these journeys that Dibbott got the dignity which sat so naturally on his great, gray head.
Dibbott for one." "Then you can put Mrs. Dibbott right." "Will what has happened at the works make much difference here?" "Probably a good deal. I'm looking for trouble." "Up at Ironville?" she said anxiously. "But I'm good for it." He stretched his great arms, feeling strangely free and fit for his duty. "What about Mr. Clark?" At this Manson grew suddenly thoughtful.
"Peter has been telling me for months he's going to resign and live at ease, but it's always a matter of waiting just a little longer. I can't help longing for the old days. Perhaps there was less comfort but " she added pathetically, "there was also less restlessness. I suppose I'm out of date." "Did you see Mr. Clark to-day?" broke in Mrs. Dibbott, changing the subject with swift intuition.
"Seven years ago to-night there was a certain notable meeting in the town hall." "And now there's one in the corner. We've come down in the world," put in Dibbott. "Possibly, but possibly not. I was just thinking of all that has happened in seven years. It should prevent us from getting rattled." The mayor turned to Bowers, "Seen Clark to-day?"
At the door, Manson hung about till old Dibbott, glaring amiably down the isle, marched out and dragged the chief constable and his wife to a front seat. And last of all came Clark, who, slipping into a back corner, refused to move. Then the old bell ceased swinging in the new stone tower and the service began. It was all very simple and touching.
A little later the three ladies went together and rather silently down the plank walk that led from the See House to the main road. Their eyes were on the tapering spars of the yacht that floated so gracefully a few hundred yards away. "I wonder," said Mrs. Dibbott pensively, "if we really appreciate him." "Meaning the Bishop?" demanded Mrs. Worden. "Yes.
At that the bishop shook his head gravely and the palm was withdrawn, when there followed more talk in lowered tones, after which he vaulted the fence and came slowly back, his lips compressed and a quizzical smile on his big handsome face. He shot a look at the group but said nothing. "What is it, sir?" asked Dibbott. "Something that touches our conversation, curiously enough.
Marys rose to their feet and began to cheer. The ladies' handkerchiefs were in the air, with a babel of voices both small and deep. Mrs. Dibbott, her eyes dancing, caught those of Mrs. Worden and nodded vigorously, her cheeks flushed, for to men and women alike the invigorating, magnetic appeal had gone home. Then above the clamor Manson's deep bass became gradually audible.
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