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Updated: June 21, 2025
It was three or four days later when he arrived at Mrs. Kettering's house one evening and found Sylvia awaiting him in a room reserved for her hostess's use. She was very becomingly dressed and looked, he thought, even more attractive than usual. She submitted to his caress with an air of resignation, but he augured a good deal from the fact that she did not repulse him.
Lansing made no objection, and three or four days afterward Sylvia met Bland at Mrs. Kettering's house. He arrived after her, and as there were other guests, she had to wait a little while before she could get a word with him alone. She was standing in the big hall, which was unoccupied, rather late in the evening, when he came toward her.
Kettering's car was only a mile or two behind. After that there was a league of brown heath, and then they sped down to a wide, wooded valley, in the midst of which rose the gray walls of an ancient town. On reaching it, Ethel alighted in the market-square, hard by the lofty abbey, and turned to Bland.
Kettering's hall, where the lamps were burning, though a little pale daylight still filtered through the drizzle outside. Sylvia was fond of warmth and brightness, but she was alone except for Ethel West, who sat writing at a table in a recess, although her hostess had other guests, including a few men who were out shooting. After a while Ethel looked up.
He hardly recognised Christine in this girl who sat there avoiding his eyes, avoiding speaking to him unless she were obliged. Once she had hung on his every word; once she had flushed at the sound of his step; but now, one might almost have thought she was Kettering's wife instead of his. He hated Kettering. He looked at him with sullen eyes.
Kettering's bluntness, and he somehow divined that there was a shrewd pair of eyes behind those spectacles that took in far more than they appeared to do. "I'm hanged if I'd ever have married her," pursued the master-printer, "and that's telling you the plain truth, sir. You see what she has done for you already. Why did you give her all that money?
He had thoroughly mastered the business of proof-reading under Kettering's tuition, and his Greek and Latin and general culture had done the rest for him, for there was now scope for all of it in his new position. His salary at starting was two pounds fifteen shillings per week, the same as that of his predecessor, who had left the firm voluntarily.
She told me she was going to Heston with you instead." The silence fell again. Kettering's eyes were shining; there was a sort of shamed triumph about his big person. Gladys turned to him impatiently. "Are you looking glad? Oh, I think I should kill you if I saw you looking glad," she said quickly.
He was coming out of the little post office as she was going in, and he pulled up short with a muttered apology before he recognised her; then well, then they both got red, and a little flame crept into Kettering's eyes. "I thought I was never going to see you any more," Christine said rather nervously. "Are you angry with me?" "Angry!" He laughed a little.
Morgan felt drawn towards the old man, though he perceived that Simon Kettering's soul could not take wing out of the atmosphere of his workshop, and that whosoever wished to commune with him must descend into it. But it was from this very atmosphere that Cleo had emerged Cleo, with her vitriolic notions and her pretentious scents!
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