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Updated: July 7, 2025
Wilsey shook his head gently, as one who went about correcting errors. "No. What I said was that I feel no moral doubt he would have signed it if an attack of illness " Lanley gave a short roar. "That's just like you, Wilsey. You wouldn't have signed it, either.
Lanley. "We feel you have abused our confidence." "No, I don't reproach Mr. Wayne along those lines," said Adelaide. "He owes me nothing. I had not supposed Mathilde would deceive me, but we won't discuss that now. It isn't anything against Mr. Wayne to say he has made a mistake.
A change in Farron's expression made Mr. Lanley turn his head, and he saw that Adelaide had come into the room. Her appearance bore out the legend of her headache: she looked like a garden after an early frost. But perhaps the most terrifying thing about her aspect was her complete indifference to it. A recollection suddenly came to Mr.
Lanley of the delight of bestowing a benefit, but gave him a faint sense of capture. In the drawing-room Mathilde was looking from one to the other of her natural guardians, like a well-trained puppy who wants to be fed. She wanted Pete praised. Instead, Adelaide said: "Really, papa is growing too secretive! Do you know, Vin, he and Mrs.
My child is not absolutely repellent, you know, and a good many young men come to the house." Then suddenly remembering that her oracle had already spoken on this subject, she asked more humbly, "What was it made you say he was in love, Vin?" "Just an impression," said Farron. Mr. Lanley had been thinking it over.
"Of course it's logic," said Lanley, crossly. "If you say all Americans are liars, Wilsey, and you're an American, the logical inference is that you think yourself a liar. But Mrs. Baxter doesn't mean that she thinks all women are inferior " "I must say I prefer men," she answered almost coquettishly. "If all women were like you, Mrs. Baxter, I'd believe in giving them the vote," said Wilsey.
But Adelaide's object was accomplished: no public betrothal had taken place. Pringle announced dinner. Mr. Lanley, rather to his own surprise, found that he was insisting on giving Mrs. Wayne his arm; he was not so angry at her as he had supposed.
All through the late seventies, while his brothers and sisters were clinging sentimentally to brownstone fronts in Stuyvesant Square or red-brick facades in Great Jones Street, Mr. Lanley himself, unaffected by recollections of Uncle Joel's death or grandma's marriage, had been parting with his share in such properties, and investing along the east side of the park.
"O Mama, I think you're so marvelous!" said Mathilde, and touched at her own words, she burst into tears. Her mother put her arm about her, and Mr. Lanley patted her shoulder his sovereign care. "There, there, my dear," he murmured, "you must not cry. You know Vincent has a very good chance, a very good chance."
Farron's illness, and she is always there, so brave, so attentive. A queenly woman, and," he added, as if the two did not always go together, "a good wife." Wayne could think of no answer to this eulogy, and as they stood in silence the office door opened and Mr. Lanley came in. He nodded to each of the two, and moved to Vincent's room. "Mr. Farron has just gone," said Chandler, firmly.
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