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Updated: May 22, 2025
As he left the car he met Uncle Caspar, who was hurrying toward his niece's section. A few moments later she came down the steps, followed by the dignified old gentleman. Grenfall tingled with a strange delight as she moved quite close to his side in her desire to see.
This being the tale of another day, it is not timely to dwell upon the interesting events which led up to the marriage of the Princess Yetive to Grenfall Lorry.
You will pardon me if I say that your name has caused me despair. No one seems to have heard it here, and I was beginning to lose hope. You may expect me at three, and I thank you for the pleasure you bestow. "Yours sincerely, "GRENFALL LORRY." This note, part of which had been written with misgiving, he gave to the messenger, who rode away quickly.
She slipped from the bed and threw a long, loose silken gown about her. "Who are you?" she asked, touching his arm. "I am a foreigner an American Grenfall Lorry! Hurry!" he implored. She did not move for a moment, but he distinctly heard her catch her breath. "Am I dreaming?" she murmured, faintly. Her fingers now clutched his arm tightly. "I should say not!
"He said you would have to drive like the the very devil if you got here in twenty minutes." "We did, Uncle Caspar," interrupted Miss Guggenslocker, naively. "Our driver followed Mr. Lorry's instructions." Mr. Grenfall Lorry blushed and laughed awkwardly. He had been admiring her eager face and expressive eyes during Uncle Caspar's recital.
It was so bracing, was it not Mr. Grenfall Lorry?" "Give me a mountain ride always as an appetizer," he said, obligingly, and so ended the jest about a name. The orders for the dinner were given and the quartette sat back in their chairs to await the coming of the soup.
He was off for Edelweiss to the strange Miss Guggenslocker who had thrown him a kiss from the deck that sailing-day. Two weeks later Grenfall Lorry was landed and enjoying the sensations, the delights of that wonderful world called by the name of Paris. The second day after his arrival he met a Harvard man of his time on the street. Harry Anguish had been a pseudo art student for two years.
Grenfall Lorry had an astonishing theory in his mind, and the more he thought it over the more firmly it was imbedded. The warm, blue coils from the cigar wafted away into the night, carrying with them a myriad of tangled thoughts, of her, of Axphain, of the abductor, of himself, of everything. A light step on the stone floor of the shadowy balcony attracted his attention.
Mr. Grenfall Lorry boarded the east-bound express at Denver with all the air of a martyr. He had traveled pretty much all over the world, and he was not without resources, but the prospect of a twenty-five hundred mile journey alone filled him with dismay.
That is why I bought your name of the porter. I shall always say that I know the name of an ideal American, Grenfall Lorry." The ideal American was not unmoved. He was in a fever of fear and happiness, fear because he thought she was jesting, happiness because he hoped she was not. He laughed awkwardly, absolutely unable to express himself in words.
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