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"He looks about thirty-eight or forty," said Brayle, "And I should say that is his age." "That his age!" Mr. Harland gave a short, derisive laugh "Why, he's over sixty if he's a day! That's the mystery of it. There is not a touch of 'years' about him. Instead of growing old, he grows young." Brayle looked up quizzically at his patron.
"Wait a minute," said King, who was growing rather tired of Bertha's company, and was glad to meet somebody else. "I say, Bertha, introduce us to your friend." "She's Elsie Harland," said Bertha, ungraciously, and evidently unwillingly. But King took no notice of Bertha's unpleasant manner. "How do you do, Elsie?" he said, in his frank, boyish fashion.
There was another afternoon I wonder Harland did not make use of which, had I been in a pedantic mood, I might have taken as an object-lesson in the art and occupation of shocking the bourgeois. We had been tempted and had yielded as unreservedly as the peacock, with the difference that our temptation took the form of the sunshine and the convenience of the train service at St. Lazare.
But two voices above the others are almost as persistent in my ears as Henley's the voices of Bob Stevenson and Henry Harland. I have no fancy for nicknames in any place or at any time. I have suffered too much from my own. But I dislike the familiarity of them above all in print.
"Thomas Harland made quite a few of these wags-on-the-wall as well as some fine long-case clocks with works of brass," added the old man. "I suppose none of the makers could turn out very many clocks when every part of them had to be made by hand," was Christopher's thoughtful comment. "No, they couldn't. Moreover the demand for clocks was not great.
Harland gave way, and she would have fallen to the earth, but for the supporting arm of her husband. For a few moments they walked on in silence, when Mr. Harland said, in a voice choked with emotion, "You have been my good angel, Mary, for your hand it was which saved me from violating a solemn oath; but I now feel an assurance that I have broken the tempter's chains forever."
"Well, before we all hate each other!" I said, playfully "It is quite on the cards that we shall come to that! Dr. Brayle thinks my presence quite as harmful to Catherine as that of Mr. Santoris; I am full of 'theories' which he considers prejudicial, and so, perhaps, they ARE to HIM!" Mr. Harland drew closer to me where I stood leaning against the deck rail and spoke in a lower tone.
Harland in Falconer's car." "Ah! Mrs. Harland's out of the running. And that Miss Dene's gone East. I happened to see her start, yesterday. She had a collection of people giving her a send-off. Of course, she could have employed some one else to do the job, and keep out of the way herself. But I guess we must look further. Now see here, Mr.
Brayle, I slipped away and went up on deck, feeling myself quite overpowered and bewildered by the suddenness and strangeness of the episodes in which I had become involved. In a minute or two Mr. Harland followed me, looking troubled and perplexed. "What does all this mean?" he said "I am quite at a loss to understand Catherine's condition. She is hysterical, of course, but what has caused it?
I said that I felt I had allowed myself sufficient holiday, and that it would be necessary for me to take the ordinary steamer from Portree the morning after our arrival there in order to reach Glasgow as soon as possible. Mr. Harland surveyed me inquisitively. "Why do you want to go by the steamer?" he asked "Why not go with us back to Rothesay, for example?"
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