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She was reading a child's simple story-book, and looked up as she spoke. Her eyes were wide open and full of questions. "What, my dear?" asked Mrs. Dinneford, repressing her feelings and trying to keep her voice calm. "There's something I can't understand, mother." She looked down at herself, then about the room. Her manner was becoming nervous. "What can't you understand?"

Dinneford came home, instead of the quiet, happy child he had left in the morning, he found a sad, almost broken-hearted woman, refusing to be comforted. The wonder was that under the shock of this terrible awakening, reason had not been again and hopelessly dethroned. After a period of intense suffering, pain seemed to deaden sensibility. She grew calm and passive. And now Mrs.

If it were not for the fear of a scornful rejection, she would be reaching out her hands to you now and begging for the old sweet love, but such a rejection would kill her, and she dare not brave the risk." Mr. Dinneford felt the young man's arm begin to tremble violently. "We want you, George," he pursued.

He brought Andy around this morning to let him enjoy the day, and has come for him, no doubt, and taken him home." "Give me the street and number, if you please, Mr. Paulding," said Mr. Dinneford, with much repressed excitement. "We will go there at once," he added, turning to his daughter. Edith's face had become pale, and her father felt her hand tremble as she laid it on his arm.

It's an ugly business, and I was a weak fool ever to have engaged in it." "You were a free agent." "I was a weak fool." "As you please," returned Mrs. Dinneford, coldly, and drawing herself away from him. It was some moments before either of them spoke again. Then Freeling said, "I was awake all night, thinking over this matter, and it looks uglier the more I think of it.

Bray had prudently slipped them into her pocket before admitting Pinky, but as soon as she was alone had thrown them down again. The face of Mrs. Dinneford was pale, and exhibited no ordinary signs of discomfiture and anxiety. "Who was that?" she asked. "A friend," replied Mrs. Bray, in a cold, self-possessed manner. A few moments of embarrassed silence followed. Mrs.

Dinneford understand, and it was with difficulty he could suppress a groan as his head drooped forward and his eyes fell to the floor. "It does not pay to keep it any longer," added the woman. Mr. Dinneford made no response. "Gain lies on the other side. The secret is yours, if you will have it." "At what price?" asked Mr. Dinneford, without lifting his eyes. "One thousand dollars, cash in hand."

Our true work, then, among this heathen people, of whom the churches take so little care, is first to get the ground in order for the planting, of heavenly seed. Failing in this, our hope is small." "This mission has changed its attitude since the beginning," said Mr. Dinneford. "Yes.

He fixed his eyes intently on Mrs. Bray's face, and saw by its quick changes and blank surprise that he had put the right question. Before she could recover herself and reply, he added, "And you are, doubtless, this same Pinky Swett." The half smile, half sneer, that curved the woman's lips, told Mr. Dinneford that he was mistaken. "No, sir," was returned, with regained coolness.

Dinneford taught Edith a nobler life-lesson than this, gave her better views of wedlock, pictured for her loving heart the bliss of a true marriage, sighing often as he did so, but unconsciously, at the lost fruition of his own sweet hopes. He was careful to do this only when alone with Edith, guarding his speech when Mrs. Dinneford was present.