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Updated: June 18, 2025
And he was curious to know whether, amongst American young ladies, Miss Leffingwell was the exception or the rule. Those eyes of his, which had paid to his hostess a tender respect, snapped when they spoke to our heroine, and presently he boldly abandoned literature to declare that the fates alone had sent her to Silverdale at the time of his visit. It was at this interesting juncture that Mrs.
Her father was Randolph Leffingwell, and he died in the early flower of his manhood, while filling with a grace that many remember the post of United States Consul at Nice. As a linguist he was a phenomenon, and his photograph in the tortoise-shell frame proves indubitably, to anyone acquainted with the fashions of 1870, that he was a master of that subtlest of all arts, dress.
Adopting the Mordaunt Estate's sardonic suggestion, Martin Dyke had settled down to van life in a private alleyway next to Number 37. Anne Leffingwell deemed this criminally extravagant since the rental of a van must be prodigious. "So when father went West for six months, I just moved, and I'm going to be a potato and see how I like it.
His habitual mode of speech was both brief and sharp, but people remarked that he modified it a little for Tom Leffingwell. "Come in, Tom," he said. "Anything the matter?" "Mr. Isham, I want a week off, to go to New York." The request, from Tom Leffingwell, took Mr. Isham's breath.
"Yes; I sent the roses. You shan't be troubled again in that way or any other way. Do you mind if I finish this job?" Victory for the defense! Yet the rosebud face of Anne Leffingwell expressed concern and doubt rather than gratification. There is such a thing as triumph being too complete. "I think you're doing it very nicely," was the demure reply.
If he had owned it, he could not have been treated by the customers with more respect. The city, save for a few notable exceptions, like Mr. Isham, called him Mr. Leffingwell, but behind his back often spoke of him as Tom. On the particular hot morning in question, as he stood in his seersucker coat reading the unquestionably pompous letter of Mr.
Allison announcing that his niece was on the high seas, he returned the greetings of his friends with his usual kindness and cheer. In an adjoining compartment a long-legged boy of fourteen was busily stamping letters. "Peter," said Mr. Leffingwell, "go ask Mr. Isham if I may see him." It is advisable to remember the boy's name.
Brice, "Blessed are the ugly, for they shall not be tempted." "They say that poor Tom Leffingwell has not yet finished paying his debts," continued Mrs. Dwyer, "although his uncle, Eleanor Hanbury's father, cancelled what Randolph had had from him in his will. It was twenty-five thousand dollars. James Hanbury, you remember, had him appointed consul at Nice.
"I never knew a better or a more honest woman than Mary Leffingwell, but I tremble for her. She is utterly incapable of managing that child. If Honora is a complicated mechanism now, what will she be at twenty? She has elements in her which poor Mary never dreamed of. I overheard her with Emily, and she talks like a grown-up person." Mrs. Hayden's dimples deepened.
The one who met Aunt Harriet was Medora Phillips, and the meeting was brief. Medora had heard from Amy Leffingwell of Cope's absence from his class-room. She herself became concerned; she felt more or less responsible and possibly a bit conscience-stricken. "Next time," she said, "I shall try to have the ventilation right; and I think that, after this, I shall keep to birch beer."
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