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Updated: May 23, 2025
The discerning reader will perhaps think Mr. Thomas Larcher a very dull person in not having yet put this and that together and associated the love-affair of Murray Davenport with the "romance" of Miss Florence Kenby. One might suppose that Edna Hill's friendship for Miss Kenby, and her inquisitiveness regarding Davenport, formed a sufficient pair of connecting links.
But the world isn't sufficiently advanced yet to make people so far-seeing and provident, and many parents do have to look to their children for support. In such cases, the child ought to provide for the parent, but out of love or humanity, not because of any purely logical claim. You see the difference, of course." Mr. Kenby gives a shrug, and grunts ironically.
Kenby," she responded, with such solemnity that March gave way in an outrageous laugh. Kenby laughed, and Mrs. March laughed too, but with an inner note of protest. "Well," Kenby continued, still addressing her, "what I want you to do is to stand by me when I propose it." Mrs. March gathered strength to say, "No, Mr. Kenby, it's your own affair, and you must take the responsibility."
She was always ordering Kenby about; she sent him for her handkerchief, and her rings which she had left either in the tray of her trunk, or on the pin-cushion, or on the wash-stand or somewhere, and forbade him to come back without them.
She was forced to agree with him that the Kenbys seemed happy together, and that there was nothing to fear for Rose in their happiness. He would be as tenderly cared for by Kenby as he could have been by his mother, and far more judiciously. She owned that she had trembled for him till she had seen them all together; and now she should never tremble again. "Well?"
Somewhere there had been an error, or a duplicity which it was now useless to punish; and Kenby was so apparently unconscious of it that she had not the heart to be cross with him. She heard Miss Triscoe behind her with March laughing in the gayety which the escape from her father seemed to inspire in her.
Kenby seemed only to have begun when they reached the door, and wanted to continue the subject in the reading-room. March pleaded his wish to find how his wife had got through the afternoon, and he escaped to her.
It would be interesting to know just how much liking there is in the popularity of a given book." "It's like the run of a song, isn't it?" Kenby suggested. "You can't stand either, when it reaches a given point." He spoke to March and ignored Triscoe, who had hitherto ignored the rest of the table. "It's very curious," March said.
San Francisco wants to know about Denver, Denver about Chicago, Chicago about New York, and New York about London; but curiosity never travels the other way any more than a hot wave or a cold wave." "Ah, but London doesn't care a rap about Vienna," said Kenby. "Well, some pressures give out before they reach the coast, on our own side. It isn't an infallible analogy."
He raised the frail burden lightly to his shoulder, and moved strongly away, followed by the eyes of the spectators who had gathered about the little group, but who dispersed now, and went back to their devotions. March hurried after Kenby with Mrs. Adding, whom he told he had just missed Rose and was looking about for him, when Kenby came with her message for them.
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