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Updated: May 4, 2025
Apparently Matilda Junk was quite ignorant of anything being wrong about her ladies, although she did shirk the question regarding their possible visit to London in July. However, Hurd had learned that Grexon Hay not only was an old friend, but had been engaged to Maud for many months.
Beecot," said Paul, smiling. "Well," replied Hurd, very heartily, "I trust you will both be happy. I think Miss Norman will get a good husband in you, and you will gain the sweetest wife in the world bar one." "Everyone thinks his own crow the whitest," laughed Beecot. "But now that business is ended and you know what you are to do, will you tell me plainly why you warned me against Grexon Hay?"
No!" this in reply to an eloquent glance from the well-to-do "I have sufficient for my needs, and besides," with a look at the resplendent dress of the fashion-plate dandy, "I don't glitter in the West End." "Which hints that those who do, are rich," said Grexon, with an arctic smile. "Wrong, Beecot. I'm poor. Only paupers can afford to dress well."
It was necessary that he should tell Aaron of his love if things were to be conducted in a straightforward and honorable manner. And Paul had no desire to conduct them otherwise. Having made up his mind to see Aaron again, Paul bethought himself of Grexon Hay. That gentleman had never appeared again at the Bloomsbury garret, and had never even written.
"Miss Stably, stop here." "I haven't got my shawl," bleated the old lady. "Oh, bother," Aurora ran to the other room, snatched up the shawl and saw Miss Stably sitting down to knit, while she led Hay back into the drawing-room. He looked round when he entered. "Where are they?" he asked, sitting down. "Gone; but it's all right. I've made them promise not to say " Grexon Hay didn't let her finish.
"In that case I must be a millionaire," laughed Beecot, glancing downward at his well-worn garb. "But mount these stairs; we have much to say to one another." "Much that is pleasant," said the courtly Grexon. Paul shrugged his square shoulders and stepped heavenward. "On your part, I hope," he sang back; "certainly not on mine.
"Did you sell the brooch?" asked Grexon as they walked up Gwynne Street. "No. I have to send it back to my mother, and " "Hold on!" cried Hay, stumbling. "Orange-peel ah " His stumble knocked Paul into the middle of the road. A motor car was coming down swiftly. Before Hay could realize what had taken place Paul was under the wheels of the machine.
Nor could the quiet call of Hay make him stop. But at the end of the street he looked back, and saw Grexon entering the office of the lawyer. If Hay was the man Hurd said he was, Paul guessed that he would inquire about the heiress and marry her too, if her banking account was large and safe. For obvious reasons Beecot did not return to Gwynne Street.
I waited for a letter from my mother about the brooch, so that I might explain to Aaron how she got it. The old man has been asking after me." "Oh, confound the brooch!" said Grexon in his cool manner. "I don't want to hear about it. Let us talk of Dulcinea." "Rather let us talk of yourself," said Paul.
You know I love you for yourself, and would take you without a penny, but unless we marry soon, and you give me a husband's right, you will be pestered by people wanting to marry you." Paul thought of Grexon Hay when he made this last remark. "But I wouldn't listen to them," cried Sylvia, with a flush, "and Debby would soon send them away. I love you dearest, dear."
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