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The means of supporting him at the University were accordingly supplied by the liberality of the friends whom he had gained; and after passing a twelvemonth with the Rev. Mr. Grainger, of Winteringham in Lincolnshire, to prepare himself, he was in 1805 entered a sizar of St John's, Cambridge. Here his application to books was so intense, that his health speedily sank under it.
Grainger bestowed upon Honora her enigmatic smile. "Oh," she declared, "I've heard of Mrs. Spence from other sources, and I've seen her, too." Honora grew a fiery red. There was obviously no answer to such a remark, which seemed the quintessence of rudeness. But Mrs. Grainger continued to smile, and to stare at her with the air of trying to solve a riddle.
And he's actually getting ready to write a life of his father, the General that's the most surprising thing! They never met but to strike fire while the General was alive. It appears that Jerry and Cecil Grainger and one or two other people have some of the old gentleman's letters, and that's the reason why Hugh's come to Newport. And the strangest thing about it, my dear," added Mrs.
Grainger's cousin did not escape, and the biography was the subject of laughter. "You see something of him, I hear," remarked Mrs. Playfair, a lady the deficiency of whose neck was supplied by jewels, and whose conversation sounded like liquid coming out of an inverted bottle. "Is he really serious about the biography?" "You'll have to ask Mr. Grainger," replied Honora.
"You'd go to sleep and spoil it all," said Brent. "But you can't, Cecil!" cried Mrs. Kame. "Don't you remember we're going to Westchester to the Faunces' to spend the night and play bridge? And we promised to arrive early." "That's so, by George," said Mr. Grainger, and he drank the rest of his whiskey-and-soda. "I'll tell you what I'll do, if Mrs. Spence is willing," suggested Brent.
Cecil Grainger may safely have been called a Personality, and one of the proofs of this was that she haunted people who had never seen her. Honora might have looked at her, it is true, on the memorable night of the dinner with Mrs. Holt and Trixton Brent; but for sufficiently obvious reasons refrained. It would be an exaggeration to say that Mrs.
"Oh, indeed!" said the lady, with unmistakable disappointment in her voice, and then Grainger, without saying a word about Sheila, went to his room to pack, and talk to Mallard, who had not yet risen. "I wonder if Mr. Mallard is leaving too now that his friend is going," anxiously said Juliette a few minutes later.
She opened it at random and read: "July 5, 1893, Picnic at Psalter's Falls. Temperature 71 at 9 A.M. Bar. 30. Weather clear. Charles left for Washington, summons from President, in the midst of it. Agatha and Victor again look at the Farrar property. Hugh has a ducking. P.S. At dinner night Bessie announces her engagement to Cecil Grainger.
"Boss," he said, as he handed his pipe to Jacky to be filled, "this will be suthin' for Mr. Mallard to put in the Champion, eh?" "Yes, Dick, old son," and Grainger put his hand on the big man's shoulder, with a kindly light shining in his quiet, grey eyes. "I'll write and tell him all about it. And I'll tell him what a real, downright, out-and-out 'white man' you are."
"Easily," said Trixton Brent. After lunch, while Mrs. Kame was telephoning to her maid and Mr. Grainger to Mrs. Faunce, Honora found herself alone with Trixton Brent in the automobile at a moment when the Quicksands party were taking a cab. Mrs. Chandos parsed long enough to wave her hand. "Bon voyage!" she cried. "What an ideal party! and the chauffeur doesn't understand English.
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