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The passion broke now from between George's clenched teeth, flamed in his eyes. He tightened his grip upon the other's shoulder so that he pinched the flesh. "A lot to do with me," he cried. "Is it Chater?" "What if it is? Let me go, damn you!" "Let you go! I've been itching for you for weeks! What have you been saying to Miss Humfray?" "Damn you! Take off your hand!
"Say it's true!" George boiled. His Mary implored: "Oh, George, don't, don't!" The furious young man flamed on to her. "Be quiet!" Mr. Marrapit began a sound. The furious young man flamed to him: "You be quiet, too!" He thrust the dreadful finger at Mrs. Major. "Now speak the truth. Had Miss Humfray anything to do with it?" This tremendous George had temporary command of the room.
Sprayed upon between mortification and laughter at the manner of his greeting, George's enthusiasm was a little damped. But its flame was too fierce to be hurt by a shower. Now it roared again. "I've passed!" he cried. "I'm qualified!" "I tender my felicitations. Accept them. Leave us, Miss Humfray. This is a mighty hour. Take the Rose. Give her cream. Let her with us rejoice."
They idolised this pretty Miss Humfray: whatsoever she said was clearly right. Here, however, was a dangerous conflict of opinion. They hung back. "Quickly," Mary repeated. "Kiss him, and say thank-you quickly, or there will be no story when you are in bed." It was a terrific price to pay; their troubled faces mirrored the conflict of decision. David found solution.
"Mary? Mary who?" "Miss Humfray." "Oh, is her name Mary?" "Of course it is." Margaret slipped her arm through George's; gazed up at him. "Do you like her, George?" "Like whom?" "Why, Mary Miss Humfray." "Oh, I think she's a little better than Mrs. Major in some ways. If that's what you mean." Margaret sighed. Such mulish indifference was a dreadful thing to this girl.
After a few moves, "Oh, you're not beating me as you used to," she said archly. "I am out of practice," Mr. Marrapit confessed. Mrs. Major paused in the act of throwing her dice. "Out of practice! But surely Miss Humfray plays with you?" "She does not." Mrs. Major gave a sigh that suggested more than she dared say. She sighed again when the game was concluded. Mr. Marrapit sat on.
Miss Humfray, I would not have thought it of you!" She cried: "Mr. Chater, I fell!"
The applicants whom she was accustomed to suit were "in nine and ninety cases out of one hundred cases" accomplished in the domestic or scholastic arts. However. Yes, Miss Humfray should call every morning. Better still, stay in the waiting-room. Be On the Spot that was the first requisite for success, as Miss Humfray would find whether in a situation or awaiting a situation; be On the Spot.
"For God's sake shut the door!" he roared. She did. "Tell me!" she trembled. "It's that damned girl." "That girl?" "Miss Humfray!" "Miss Humfray! Done that to you! Oh, your poor face! Your poor face!" "No! no! Do be quiet, mother! Some infernal man she goes about with in the Park! I spoke to him and he set on me!" "The infamous creature! The wicked, infamous girl! A bad girl, I knew it!
Certain dishes a little out of season, perhaps, or classed as luxuries were borne triumphantly past her by a glad parlour-maid acting upon a frown and a glance that Mrs. Chater signalled. Certain occasions, again, when private matters were to be discussed, were heralded by "Miss Humfray," in an inflexion of voice that set Mary to fold her napkin and from the room.
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