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Updated: June 14, 2025
"My husband doesn't think so." "But his hair is grey." "That doesn't lessen his regard for brunettes." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shrugged her majestic shoulders and gazed again into the street. She always regretted that Madame could not be induced to make private visits. A white poodle, recently shampooed, dashed through the rooms.
This distinguished social leader employed a French maid who was very adept at dressing hair, but the two never got along very well verbally; Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene insisted on speaking in broken French while the maid persisted in broken English. Such conversation is naturally disjointed and leads nowhere. The particular hair-dresser who received Mrs.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was something primitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, and not from any inherent caution. Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it never changed; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy and malice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into passions or ecstasies.
He read it slowly, but neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face. He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with the true. Then he addressed his wife. "Did you write this?" "Yes, I did. And if you have been listening, as you had the courage to say you had, you already know my reasons for writing it." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was recovering.
Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity. "You may, indeed," returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understood perfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son is very fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves my son." "She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How she longed to scratch the powder from Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene left her carriage at the door, perfectly willing that the neighborhood should see her alight. She climbed the steps, stately and imposing. She was one of the few women who could overawe the homely girl in the hallway. "Is Madame at liberty?" "She will be shortly, Mrs. Haldene." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene passed into the reception-room and sat down by the manicure table.
Franklyn-Haldene, a woman has nothing more serious to live for than to organize social affairs, the slightest defection from her ranks is viewed in the light of a catastrophe. She had called on Mrs. Bennington the second, armed with all those subtle cruelties which women of her caliber know so well how to handle. And behold! she met a fencer who quietly buttoned the foils before the bout began.
It smells of heliotrope your favorite perfume." "Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "What letter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had not practised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "A letter? I demand to see it." But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene saw the flutter of a white dress on the Wilmington-Fairchilds' veranda. She couldn't resist, so she crossed the lawn and mounted the veranda steps. She did not observe her husband in the corner, smoking with the master of the house. "I've been over to the Benningtons'," she began, rather breathless. "What's the news?"
We live in a city where gossip travels quickly and thoroughly. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was telling mother one afternoon that you drank. I suppose she felt it her duty." "To be sure," bitterly. "Was it while I have been living at home?" "No; when the rumor came that you were coming." He shrugged expressively. "I ought to have known." "But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured.
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