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Updated: June 23, 2025
When the porter, at the next station, threw the door open, Lydia drew back, making way for the hoped-for intruder; but none came, and the train took up its leisurely progress through the spring wheat-fields and budding copses. She now began to hope that Gannett would speak before the next station.
Gannett, early that morning, had gone off on a long walk he had fallen into the habit of taking these mountain-tramps with various fellow-lodgers; but even had he been within reach she could not have gone to him just then. She had to deal with herself first. She was surprised to find how, in the last months, she had lost the habit of introspection.
She could not see him just yet; she could not go indoors. She slipped through one of the overgrown garden-alleys and climbed a steep path to the hills. It was dark when she opened their sitting-room door. Gannett was sitting on the window-ledge smoking a cigarette. Cigarettes were now his chief resource: he had not written a line during the two months they had spent at the Hotel Bellosguardo.
To look upon him as the instrument of her liberation; to resist in herself the least tendency to a wifely taking possession of his future; had seemed to Lydia the one way of maintaining the dignity of their relation. Her view had not changed, but she was aware of a growing inability to keep her thoughts fixed on the essential point the point of parting with Gannett.
When the luncheon was half-eaten Neil Durant got up and announced that he was going to send some one to look for the missing member of the team. He found Snubby Turner and asked him to run up to Gannett Hall and look for Teeny-bits.
"But I want to tell you about a puzzling incident that happened last night." Briefly, but omitting no important detail, Doctor Wells told Mr. Stevens of the unsigned letter that accused Teeny-bits, of his conference with the newcomer and of the visit to Gannett Hall. When the Head described the discovery of the stolen property beneath the floor of Teeny-bits' closet, the expression on Mr.
Lydia's eye regretfully followed the shiny broadcloth of his retreating back till it lost itself in the cloud of touts and cab-drivers hanging about the station; then she glanced across at Gannett and caught the same regret in his look. They were both sorry to be alone. "Par-ten-za!" shouted the guard.
William C. Gannett, Lucy E. Anthony and others. One evening her spacious house was thrown open for the people of the city to meet the noted suffragists. The convention was held in Music Hall, a gift of Mrs. Osborne to the city, and her son, Thomas Mott Osborne, welcomed it as Mayor.
She moved away from him, feeling for her hatpins and turning to lay her hat and sunshade on the table. Suddenly she said: "That woman has been talking to me." Gannett stared. "That woman? What woman?" "Mrs. Linton Mrs. Cope." He gave a start of annoyance, still, as she perceived, not grasping the full import of her words. "The deuce! She told you ?" "She told me everything."
Gannett turned his head a moment to look at the clock: the boat was due in five minutes. He had time to jump into his clothes and overtake her He made no attempt to move; an obscure reluctance restrained him. If any thought emerged from the tumult of his sensations, it was that he must let her go if she wished it. He had spoken last night of his rights: what were they?
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