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Updated: May 7, 2025
Riatt was not kept waiting. Fenimer came promptly to meet him. He was a man of fifty, well made, and supremely well dressed. He was tanned as befits a sportsman; on his face the absence of furrows created by the absence of thought was made up for by the fine wrinkles induced by poignant and continued anxiety about his material comforts.
Almar, perhaps it would be right to say that she was the beauty of the hour. She was very tall, golden, fresh, smooth, yet with faint hollows in her cheeks that kept her freshness from being insipid. Christine Fenimer had another advantage she was unmarried.
Of course every one knew that Mr. Fenimer would present no obstacles. "Who are you lunching with, Max? Is that your little secretary?" The tone, very civil and friendly, made Max furious, as if any one that Christine did not know was hardly worth inquiring about. "No, it's Miss Lane an old friend of mine. I think I must have spoken to you about her." "Oh, the perfect provider? Is that really she?"
Fenimer back to dine; and he would come on board, very civil, very neat, very punctilious on matters of yachting etiquette; and he and Christine having exchanged greeting, would find that they had really nothing whatsoever to say to each other. Their only vital topic of conversation was money, and as this was always disagreeable, both of them instinctively tried to avoid it.
Christine came down looking particularly lovely. It is a precaution which a good-looking woman rarely fails to take in a crisis. She was wearing a deep blue dress trimmed with fur, and only needed a solid gold halo behind her head to make her look like a Byzantine saint. "Well, Miss Fenimer," said Wickham, as they sat down. "You look very blooming after your terrible experiences."
"I should prefer to wait until the footman comes down," he answered. "No use, no use," said Mr. Fenimer, suddenly becoming jovial, "I happen to know that Christine is out. Come back a little later " "And whose hat is that, then?" asked Max. It had been carelessly left on its crown and the initials "L.L." were plainly visible. Mr.
"I have the keys to the back door." He touched the horse for the first time with the whip, and they went jingling down the slope, in between the almost completely buried gateposts, and drew up before the kitchen door. Miss Fenimer kicked her feet free from the rugs, jumped out, and from the recesses of her muff produced a key which she inserted in the lock.
But you haven't heard yet what it is I want you to do." "What is it?" "I want you to make me a well authenticated offer of marriage before you go for good." "Miss Fenimer, I have the honor to ask you to marry me." "I regret so much, Mr. Riatt, that a previous attachment prevents my accepting but, my dear man, that isn't at all what I mean.
"Perhaps you'll think me old-fashioned, but I cannot help respecting the art of housekeeping." "Oh, so do I in its place," replied Miss Fenimer. "My maid does the whole thing capitally. But let me give you a test. Think of the very best housekeeper you ever met. Would you like to have her here instead of me? You may be quite candid."
"My dear Miss Fenimer, that is quite impossible. It must be every inch of ten miles, it's dark, a blizzard is blowing, I don't know the way, and we haven't passed a house." "But, but," said she, "suppose they don't rescue us to-night?" "They probably will to-morrow," answered Riatt, and he walked past her into the house.
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