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Updated: May 19, 2025
Motioning to Grainger to lie down and await his return, he slipped quietly away, his lithe, black body gliding like a snake through the dense jungle which clothed the banks of the creek. A quarter of an hour later he came back, his black eyes rolling with subdued excitement. "Come on, boss; it is all right. I saw Missie."
His features were heavy and coarse, his brow low and protruding, his eyes small, black, and restless, and his mouth of the bulldog cast. "'We're much obliged to you for this visit, he said. 'Might I ask your name, sir? "'My name is Grainger Mr.
Kame and Cecil Grainger at the long front of the Faunce house: and Brent, who had been driving, relinquished the wheel to the chauffeur and joined Honora in the tonneau. The day was perfect, the woods still heavy with summer foliage, and the only signs of autumn were the hay mounds and the yellowing cornstalks stacked amidst the stubble of the fields.
When you come to St. Louis I'll show them to you and let us hope it will be soon." For some time after she had heard the street door close behind him Honora remained where she was, staring into the fire, and then she crossed the room to a reading lamp, and turned it up. Some one spoke in the doorway. "Mr. Grainger, madam."
Among them were several photographs. "Oh," she exclaimed, "how beautiful! What place is this?" "I hadn't gone over these letters," he answered. "I only got them yesterday from Cecil Grainger. These are some pictures of Grenoble which must leave been taken shortly before my father died."
If the city had been searched, it is doubtful whether a more striking contrast to the man who had just left could have been found than Cecil Grainger in the braided, grey cutaway that clung to the semblance of a waist he still possessed. In him Hyde Park and Fifth Avenue, so to speak, shook hands across the sea: put him in either, and he would have appeared indigenous.
"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.
"No need to get a bricklayer from the Bay and pay him about eight pound a week," said a man named Arthur O'Hare; "I'm a bricklayer by trade." "Bully for you," said Grainger; "will you take four pounds a week to put up the furnace and chimney?" "I'm willing, if my mates are." "Well, boys, that's pretty well all I have to say.
She caught herself up with a start after one of these silences to realize that Mr. Grainger was making unwonted and indeed pathetic exertions to entertain her, and it needed no feminine eye to perceive that he was thoroughly uncomfortable. She had, unconsciously and in thinking of Peter, rather overdone the note of rebuke of his visit. And Honora was, above all else, an artist.
She caught herself up with a start after one of these silences to realize that Mr. Grainger was making unwonted and indeed pathetic exertions to entertain her, and it needed no feminine eye to perceive that he was thoroughly uncomfortable. She had, unconsciously and in thinking of Peter, rather overdone the note of rebuke of his visit. And Honora was, above all else, an artist.
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