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Updated: September 20, 2025
Edith could not, for instance, write to George Elgood and question him concerning his silence: could not ask how it came to pass that while his brother had written to Margot, to Ronald, even to herself, he remained silent, content to send commonplace messages through a third person.
Margot felt that for one evening she had heard as much as she cared for about Mr Macalister, and headed the subject in the desired direction with unflinching determination. "The Mr Elgood who took the head of the table seems very agreeable." "Oh ay, he's a friendly wee body!" Mrs Macalister allowed, patronisingly.
What does it all mean? Your brother has no need to thank me for any success which he has gained. I should have been only too delighted to help him in any way that was in my power, but I have no influence with the Loadstar Magazine." "No influence! "I am the What?" You have every influence. You are the magazine!" George Elgood rose to his feet with a gesture of strongest astonishment.
"Well, dear, they are off, but it is not good-bye only au revoir, as you are sure to meet again in town before long. Mr Elgood asked permission to call upon me in town. Nice little man! He has been so wonderfully kind and considerate. I can't think why he should trouble himself so much for a complete stranger. The tall one looked sorry to go! He kept looking up at your window.
The sun was going to shine; the clouds were going to roll away; Mr Elgood was going to fall in love with Ron at first sight, and prove himself all that was wise, and kind, and helpful. Delightful optimism of youth, which is worth more than all the wisdom of maturer years! Margot set about her preparations unhampered by the financial troubles which befall less fortunate girls.
She was not in a reading mood, but the suggestion that George Elgood might have sent the magazine made it precious in her sight, and she waited anxiously for its return. "It's mine, Ron. It was sent to me! I want to take it upstairs." "Let me look at the index first, to see who is writing this month! You don't generally care for such stiff reading; I say, there's a fine collection of names!
Instead, she settled down again in London, and not one of those whom Robert Elsmere had loved was forgotten by his widow. Every Sunday morning, with her child beside her, she worshipped in the old ways; every Sunday afternoon saw her black-veiled figure sitting motionless in a corner of the Elgood Street Hall.
Brother and sister sprang from their chairs, with a simultaneous impulse, rushed across the room, and crouched behind the moreen curtains. "Is it?" they queried breathlessly of each other "Mr Elgood? Can it be?" If it were Mr Elgood, he was certainly not imposing, so far as looks were concerned.
His enmity did Elgood Street no harm, and the pretensions of the Church, in this Babel of 20,000 souls, to cover the whole field, bore clearly no relation at all to the facts. But every little incident in this new struggle of his life cost Elsmere more perhaps than it would have cost other men. No part of it came easily to him.
He was sitting up in bed, and had taken the pencil in hand to sign his name. The boys, in an eager group round him, were calling him a regular brick, encouraging him, patting him on the back, and saying that they had been sure all along that he was a nice little fellow, and would come round at last. Elgood was among them, looking on with anxious eyes.
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