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Updated: June 13, 2025
Perhaps it doesn't sound a very proper thing to say in the circumstances, but now that poor Hartley is gone, there is no reason whatsoever why you and Robin ..." The Treverts were a hot-tempered race. Lady Margaret's unfinished sentence seemed to infuriate the girl. "Do you think I'd marry Robin Greve as long as I thought he knew the mystery of Hartley's death!" she cried passionately.
It is the most difficult of all things to convert men from vicious habits to virtuous ones, as every one may judge from what he feels in himself, as well as from what he sees in others.* It is almost like making men over again. * Hartley's Essays on Man, p. 190.
Then, leaning forward a little with one arm on the table, he said: "Does my wife know what it is?" "I've never told her," Isaacson answered. "Well, but does she know?" The voice that asked was almost suspicious. And the eyes that regarded Isaacson were now suspicious, too. "How can I tell? She told me she supposed it to be a sunstroke." "That was Hartley's nonsense.
The lady, on whom Hartley's words and manner had made a great impression, and who was eager to discontinue a mode of treatment which subjected the patients to the greatest pain and privation, and had already proved unfortunate, eagerly acquiesced, and Hartley was placed in full authority in the sick room.
Hartley's peace of mind was soon shattered again, this time by a new element that Hartley had not thought of, and so he was caught in another net without any previous warning. Atkins, the rector of St. Jude's bungalow companion, was a dry little man, adhering to simple facts, and neither a sensationalist nor an alarmist; therefore his words had weight.
Hartley's remark called fresh attention to its furtive, crafty expression. Frank's curiosity was aroused, naturally enough. He wondered what Mr. Haynes had to do with his mission. He did not have long to wait for information. "I will come to the point," said Mr. Hartley, after a pause. "I am an importing merchant, and deal, among other articles, in silks.
Turning swiftly with tigerish grace, she bent upon Lane great green eyes whose strange expression he could not fathom. What passionately curious eyes did she now fasten on his prospective bride! Lane gripped Mel's hand. He felt the horror of what might be coming. What a blunder he had made! "Will the lady kindly remove her veil?" Hartley's voice sounded queer. His smile had vanished.
I'm not going to have baby lost sacrificed, I may say, like its brothers and sisters. "Oh, you know what I mean very well. What have any of 'em got by their godfathers beyond a half-pint mug, a knife and fork, and spoon- -and a shabby coat, that I know was bought second-hand, for I could almost swear to the place? And then there was your fine friend Hartley's wife what did she give to Caroline?
"As he practically admitted to me, that he had come for a letter written on slatey-blue official-looking paper." The girl held up the letter from Rotterdam. "All this," the girl continued, "made me think that this letter must have had something to do with Hartley's death ..." "Surely an additional reason for giving it to the police!..." Mary Trevert set her mouth in an obstinate line.
Whoever it was, Hartley was predisposed to give him a welcome. He had come just when he was wanted, and he hurried in, a light of pleasure in his blue eyes. Near the lamp, a book of verses open on his knee, sat Hartley's unexpected guest. He was slim, dark, and vital, but where his arresting note of vitality lay would have been hard to explain.
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