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Updated: June 19, 2025
Looking at one another, the excited colour cooling in the younger girl's cheeks, they laughed, one with relief, the other a little ashamed. "Kemp will be furious; I simply must cut in!" said Mrs. Ferrall, hastily turning toward the gun-room.
But he could make nothing of it nor of his toilet either, nor of Ferrall, who came in on his way to bed having noticed the electricity still in full glare over the open transom, and who straightened out matters for the stunned man lying face downward across the bed, his mother's letter crushed in his nerveless hand.
Toward midnight, Sylvia, absorbed in her dummy, fancied she heard the electric bell ringing at the front door. Later, having barely made the odd, she was turning to look at the major, when, beyond him, she saw Leroy Mortimer enter the room, sullen, pasty-skinned, but perfectly sober and well groomed. "You are a trifle late," observed Sylvia carelessly. Grace Ferrall and Marion ignored him.
You men think her a rather stunning, highly tempered, unreasonable young girl, with a reserve of sufficiently trained intelligence to marry the best our market offers and close her eyes; a thoroughbred with the caprices of one, but also with the grafted instinct for proper mating." "Well, that's all right, isn't it?" asked Ferrall. "That's the way I size her up. Isn't it correct?" "Yes, in a way.
"I think," he said, "that you are beginning to remember where you may have heard my name." "Yes a little " She looked at him with the direct gaze of a child, but the lovely eyes were troubled. His smile was not very genuine, but he met her gaze steadily enough. "It was rather nice of Mrs. Ferrall to ask me," he said, "after the mess I made of things last spring."
And Sylvia, leagues away by that time, curled up in the tonneau beside Grace Ferrall, watched the dark pines flying past, cheeks pink, eyes like stars, while the rushing wind drove health into her and care out of her cleansing, purifying, overwhelming winds flowing through and through her, till her very soul within her seemed shining through the beauty of her eyes.
Do you remember? I asked Grace Ferrall then. I asked her again to-day. Heigho! It was years ago, wasn't it, that I drove up to the station and saw a very attractive and perplexed young man looking anxiously about for somebody to take him to Shotover. Ahem! the notorious Mr. Siward! Dear, I didn't mean to hurt you! You know it, silly!
Ferrall nodded: "I came in to say something a message from Grace confound it! what was it? Oh could you before dinner now just sit down and with that infernal facility of yours make a sketch of a man chasing a gun-shy dog?" "Why yes if Mrs. Ferrall wishes "
Years before, Grace Ferrall had snapped her slim fingers in his face; and here, at Shotover, the field was limited. Mrs.
Sore doubt assailed Grace Ferrall, guiltily aware that once again she had meddled; and in the calm tenor of her own placid, marital satisfaction, looking backward along the pleasant path she had trodden with its little monuments to love at decent intervals amid the agreeable monotony of content, her heart and conscience misgave her lest she had counselled this young girl wrongly, committing her to the arid lovelessness which she herself had never known.
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