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Updated: June 14, 2025
You needn't hurry; dinner won't be ready till you are." I did not say anything; I knew Hephzy had known her all my life. Jim, who, naturally enough, didn't know her as well, protested. "We're not wet, Miss Cahoon," he declared. "At least, I'm not, and I don't see how Kent can be. We both wore oilskins." "That doesn't make any difference. You ought to change your clothes anyhow.
We went to London and to the hotel; not Bancroft's, but the hotel where Hephzy and I had stayed the previous night. It was Frances' wish that we should not go to Bancroft's. "I don't think that I could go there, Kent," she whispered to me, on the train. "Mr. and Mrs Jameson were very kind, and I liked them so much, but but they would ask questions; they wouldn't understand.
Our guest or my "niece" or our ward it was hard to classify her changed the subject. "Have you met any of the people about here?" she asked. Hephzy burst into enthusiastic praise of the Baylisses and the curates and the Coles. "They're all just as nice as they can be," she declared. "I never met nicer folks, at home or anywhere." Frances nodded. "All English people are nice," she said.
But but " with a choking sob, "it was SO hard to do! My Ardelia's baby!" And at last, I am glad to say, I began to realize how very hard it had been for her. To understand what she had gone through for my sake and what a selfish brute I had been. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her almost reverently. "Hephzy," said I, "you're a saint and a martyr and I am what I am. Please forgive me."
And there's a Princess here! Princess B-e-r-g-e-n-s-t-e-i-n Bergenstein. Princess Bergenstein. What do you suppose she's Princess of?" "Princess of Jerusalem, I should imagine," I answered. "Oh, I see! You've skipped a line, Hephzy. Bergenstein belongs to another person. The Princess's name is Berkovitchky. Russian or Polish, perhaps." "I don't care if she's Chinese; I mean to see her.
"Burgleston Bogs is where that Heathcroft chap whom we met on the steamer visits occasionally. His aunt has a big place there. By George! you don't suppose that estate belongs to his aunt, do you?" Hephzy gasped. "I wouldn't wonder," she cried. "I wouldn't wonder if it did. And his aunt was Lady Somebody, wasn't she. Maybe you'll meet him there.
Frances addressed most of her conversation to me and I was inclined to think the pair had had some sort of disagreement, what Hephzy would have called a "lover's quarrel," perhaps. We walked across the main street of Mayberry, through the lane past the cricket field, on by the path over the pastures, and entered the great gate of the Manor, the gate with the Carey arms emblazoned above it.
The temptation was to go, to get as far from the scene of my trouble as I could; but, after all, what did it matter? I could never flee from that trouble. "All right, Hephzy," I said. "I'll stay, if it pleases you." "Thank you, Hosy. It may be foolish, our stayin', but I don't believe it is. And and there's somethin' else. I don't know whether I ought to tell you or not.
"What?" queried Hephzy, from the sitting-room. "What did you say, Hosy?" I did not tell her. In Which the Pilgrims Become Tenants Two weeks later we left Bancroft's and went to Mayberry. Two weeks only, and yet in that two weeks all our plans if our indefinite visions of irresponsible flitting about Great Britain and the continent might be called plans had changed utterly.
"Well," observed Hephzy, in conclusion, "perhaps she and Doctor Bayliss will make a match after all. We ought to help it all we can, I suppose." This conversation had various effects upon me. One was to make me unaccountably "blue" for the rest of that day. Another was that I regarded the visits of Worcester and Herbert Bayliss with a different eye.
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