"Yes; but young men sometimes have more strings than one, you know." "But August ain't that kind." "Artless, old mother!" thought Keene. "She knows nothing of the doings of this son of her's." Then, thinking of the forger whom he had come so near capturing that evening, Keene said: "You are from New York, I believe, Mrs. Bordine?" "Formerly, yes." "From the neighborhood of Rochester?" "Yes."
I speak on the best authority." He hesitated. "Mrs. Lowder's?" "No. I don't call Mrs. Lowder's the best." "Oh I thought you were just now saying," he laughed, "that everything about her's so good." "Good for you" she was perfectly clear. "For you," she went on, "let her authority be the best. She doesn't believe what you mention, and you must know yourself how little she makes of it.
"And didn't you say your servant was out?" "Ay," he mysteriously lied. "Her's out. But her'll come back. Happen her's gone to get a bit o' fish or something." "Fish! Do you always have fish for tea?" "I have what I'm given," he replied. "I fancy a snack for my tea. Something tasty, ye know." "Why," she said, "you're just like me. I adore tea. I'd sooner have tea than any other meal of the day.
I have been used to hear her's admired; and I remember one proof of her being thought to play well: a man, a very musical man, and in love with another woman engaged to her on the point of marriage would yet never ask that other woman to sit down to the instrument, if the lady in question could sit down instead never seemed to like to hear one if he could hear the other.
The gradual growth and sostenuto of her tones; the light and shade, the rhythmic undulation and balance of her passages; the bird-like ecstacy of her trill; the faultless precision and fluency of her chromatic scales; above all, the sure reservation of such volume of voice as to crown each protracted climax with glory, not needing a new effort to raise force for the final blow; and indeed all the points one looks for in a mistress of the vocal art were eminently her's in Casta Diva.
Her father had come from London expressly to see her: she died in his arms, and, I hear, he is almost in a state of frenzy." The host and hostess signified their commiseration. "Poor little girl!" said the latter, wiping her eyes; "her's was a hard fate, and she felt it, child as she was. Without the care of a mother, and such a father! Yet he was fond of her."
Nance asked. "Her's making me a gingerbread man." "I know a story about a gingerbread man; want to hear it?" "Is it scareful?" asked Ted. "No, just funny," Nance assured. Then while he sat very still on the gate post, with round eyes full of wonder, Nance stood in front of him with his chubby fists in her hands and told him one of Mr. Demry's old fairy tales.
"Certainly you do, Matthias, and she has sent a bandanna turban for your wife, and a pair of knitted gloves for you. She told me to say she didn't forget you, and was mighty glad for your freedom. Father long since gave her her's and she has quite a sum of money of her own."
'Missee Hazel hope you'll enjoy yours, sar, she take her's upstairs. Mr. Falkirk put on his hat and walked down to his house. It was a slight fiction on the part of Dingee, to say that Miss Hazel was taking her fruit upstairs; indeed the whole message was freely translated from her 'Dingee, attend to Mr. Falkirk's lunch, I don't want any. Presently now came Dingee to her with another message.
Still, Pearl would be pleased he hadn't done much for Pearl. He had won her love and then had to turn it away and had seen those eyes of her's cloud in disappointment. It had been a raw deal. Looking through the window, he saw Bertie, with his team, waiting outside the door. He was letting Bertie take full care of his horses now, and saving himself in that way.