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Updated: June 25, 2025
Gently his mottled fat fingers played about his mouth and chins as he looked Kirkwood up and down. "I'm sorry," he replied, "that it isn't now. You're too late, Kirkwood; I've made other arrangements." "Too bad." Kirkwood's eyes narrowed. "You force me to harsher measures, Calendar."
And for a moment he stood pulling his wits together and swaying as though on the point of resuming his rudely interrupted chase; when the noise of Kirkwood's heels brought him about face in a twinkling. "Ow, it's you, eh!" he snarled in a temper as vicious as his countenance; and both of these were much the worse for wear and tear.
Watching always, keenly sensitive to the beauty of each salient line betrayed by the flying lights, Kirkwood's own consciousness lost itself in a profitless, even a perilous labyrinth of conjecture. The cab stopped. Both occupants came to their senses with a little start.
Kirkwood nodded, with some effort recalling the name, so detached had been his thoughts since the disappearance of the page. "Yes, Mr. Calendar ?" "Are you ah busy, Mr. Kirkwood?" "Are you, Mr. Calendar?" Kirkwood's smile robbed the retort of any flavor of incivility. Encouraged, the man entered, premising that he would detain his host but a moment, and readily surrendering hat and umbrella.
Kirkwood's clothing, now rough-dried and warped wretchedly out of shape, had been thrown carelessly on a transom near the door. He got up, collected them, and returning to his berth, dressed at leisure, thinking heavily, disgruntled in a humor as evil as the after-taste of bad brandy in his mouth.
We can consider details more at our leisure." Kirkwood's eyes consulted the girl's face; almost imperceptibly she nodded him permission to proceed. "Briefly, then," he began haltingly, "the man who followed us to the door here, is Miss Calendar's father." "Oh? His name, please?" "George Burgoyne Calendar." "Ah! An American; I remember, now. Continue, please."
The woman flushed angrily; their glances crossed, her eyes flashing with indignation; but Kirkwood's held them with a level and unyielding stare. "I intend," he told her quietly, "to see Miss Calendar. It's useless your trying to hinder me. We may as well understand each other, Madam, and I'll tell you now that if you wish to avoid a scene "
'I thought perhaps you'd gone up the hill, she said, resting her arms on the wall by which he was standing. Then they kept silence, enjoying the sweetness of the hour. Differently, it is true; for Kirkwood's natural sensitiveness had been developed and refined by studies of which Jane had no conception.
She could not have told whether she thought him handsome or not, but she had a desire to look at him all the time. Suddenly her household duties recurred to her, and, refusing the help of Kirkwood's hand, she sprang up the bank and hurried back to the house. Kirkwood could see her head above the wild-rose thickets as she went along the high path by the shore.
It was ten days since he had learnt that there was no longer the least fear of a marriage between Jane and Sidney, seeing that Kirkwood was going to marry some one else a piece of news which greatly astonished him, and confirmed him in his judgment that he had been on the wrong tack in judging Kirkwood's character.
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