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Updated: May 14, 2025
It was very hard to leave his snug room, and to turn away from the silent face that was ever looking upon him, and it cost him many a serious pang to give up the care of his favorite puss to the tender mercies of Mrs. Kinalden; but it would be wrong to tamper with his health, and he must crush all regrets and disinclinations, and perhaps he might return sooner than even his physician had hoped.
That was rather overwhelming so inconsistent with "My dear Mrs. Kinalden." The shocked widow looked indignant and muttered something about "professions of regard," and "affectionate epistles," etc.; but it was all lost upon the obtuse man who talked on, about what especially concerned him, and then went gleefully up the stairs.
There's a good-natured smile upon her face, and somehow Nannie forgets how old and disagreeable she thought her when she used to come to see the sick man; and puss feels quite at home on the kind lap that no longer gives her a spiteful toss upon the hard floor. There's something come over Mrs. Kinalden, surely!
"Pretty piece of business!" said Mrs. Kinalden, as he left the house; "tisn't any beggars' brats I'll have tracking the dirt up my stair-ways, I'll warrant ye!" and she flourished her soup-ladle as if in defiance of all such encroaches upon her blessed domain. Mr. Bond didn't hear nor see it, though, for his elastic step was away down the street, and if he had he would have thought it only Mrs.
Her absent lodger never gave her any trouble; she can see it now that he is away, and she only wishes that his fat merry face would soon show itself again at her table. It would make her quite contented with her station at the big waiter. It is a pity your mind's on that train, Mrs. Kinalden. Mr.
Kinalden! She wonders if he, poor dear man! would rise from his grave if she should ever suffer herself to be called Mrs. Bond! He used to say that he should not lie peacefully beneath the sod if she were to drop his name for another.
Perhaps the letters that occasionally reach her from the amiable bachelor have something contagious in them, and may be they awaken in her mind a faint hope that the address, "My dear Mrs. Kinalden," may mean a little more than appears upon the surface.
Kinalden, she could scarcely forgive herself for incurring the risk of losing one of her best and most permanent boarders, and her night had been spent in bitter self-reproaches and regrets. The morning, however, compensated for the night of grief, when she felt that Mr. Bond good soul! overlooked it all, and was willing to stay.
He even places a chair near her, and seats himself so close to her that his hand rests upon the arm of the sofa where she is sitting. She loses her fear then, and says, in a tremulous tone, she has been thinking of Mr. Kinalden. Mr. Bond appreciates that. Is not there a kindred spirit in his own thoughts every moment of his life? Mrs.
There are tears in the bachelor's eyes as they meet the blue orbs so fondly fastened upon him, for his thoughts are upon the gentle and confiding embrace that was once his. Woe unto you, Mrs. Kinalden! If there were a single impregnable spot in the good man's bosom, that tear would never have found its birth.
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