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Updated: June 19, 2025
It seems to play her out to walk." "It must be very hard on her to stay in the house all the time. I wonder if I might take her to drive with me once in a while?" A scarlet flush passed over Lena's face at the very idea of her mother's querulous vulgarity being displayed to this woman, and Mrs. Lenox could not help seeing her embarrassment. A little wave of pity swept over the older woman.
"Uncle Carr gave up the ranch when he went into Congress, and Darkie and all the other ponies were left at Buller's Creek. She wouldn't have been happy off the prairie, or I'd have begged to have her. Lenox? Why, he's still in France; but I suppose he'll be demobilized soon, and going back to Harvard. He wants to be a professor, not a ranchman. He's a fearfully clever boy.
"Good-by. I always appreciate your visits," whined Mrs. Quincy. "I'm sure, with all you have to do, I don't wonder you don't come oftener. I know there's nothin' to draw you." Mrs. Lenox went away with a deep breath and a longing for fresh air. She shook her head at the waiting coachman and said, "I am going to walk, Emil."
She had just come to Lenox, I knew; she could know nothing of our intimacy, our relations; and this seemed like the renewal of something old something that had been going on before. Had she any claim on you? I wondered. And then, too, you were so provokingly reticent about her whenever her name had been mentioned before." "Was I? What a fool I was!
Absorbed in thought, Lenox crossed a stretch of lawn set with rose-beds; and turning at the far end strolled back towards the house, that loomed, an unwieldy mass of shadow, against the palpitating radiance beyond.
His thoughts were running definitely upon this pleasant state of things, as he drove Quita Lenox homeward through the main street of the native city, on a glowing evening, some two weeks after Honor's visit to the studio.
"Really, Eldred, you are delightful!" "Glad to hear it," Lenox replied, a shade of sarcasm in his tone. "It's the first time I have been accused of such a thing." He quickened his pace; and she, divining a slight jar in the atmosphere, said no more. The supreme art in human intercourse is the art of punctuation, and in the long pause that ensued, silence accomplished her perfect work.
"I wonder if you know Howard Quarrier?" she said. After a second's hesitation he replied: "Yes a little. Everybody does." "You do know him?" "Only at the club." "Oh, the Lenox?" "The Lenox and the Patroons."
When the Martian reached the deck, Redgrave held out his hand and the giant recoiled, as a man on earth might have done if, instead of the open palm, he had seen a clenched hand gripping a knife. "Take care, Lenox," exclaimed Zaidie, taking a couple of steps towards him, with her right hand on the butt of one of her revolvers.
"Oh, that's one of the jokes that has successfully withstood the ravages of time," said Mrs. Lenox scornfully. "Very well, then, I'll say that you are getting on toward middle life and have had your enthusiasms corrupted by a worldly-wise father and husband. But I dare say that Miss Quincy, being young, is quite as explosive as you are, Madeline. So we shall be two against two."
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