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Updated: June 8, 2025
No, why should I have been? Lula Chandos and May Barclay had seen you in the automobile in town, and I knew you were high and dry somewhere." "High and dry," she repeated. "What?" "Nothing. They said I had run off with Mr. Brent, didn't they?" He laughed. "Yes, there was some joking to that effect." "You didn't take it seriously?" "No why should I?"
"No, she wasn't really shocked, not in the way she thought she was," said Nancy, in answer to a query of mine. "How was she shocked, then?" "As you and I are shocked." "But I'm not shocked," I protested. "Oh, yes, you are, and so am I not on the moral side, nor is it the moral aspect that troubles Lula Dickinson.
"The lady making mud pies in the corner," whispered the physician in charge, "is no other than Lula Lulington, the authoress of the novel entitled 'Why Love Loves. What she is doing now is simply to rest her mind after performing that piece of work." I had seen the book. "Why doesn't she do it by writing another one instead?" I asked. As you see, I wasn't as far gone as they thought I was.
Stonewall Jackson came to the door of his tent and stood, looking out. All Rude's Hill throbbed to "Dixie." On went the programme. "Marco Bozzaris" was well spoken. A blacksmith and a mule driver wrestled for a prize. "Marmion Quitting the Douglas's Hall" was followed by "Lula, Lula, Lula is Gone," and "Lula" by "Lorena," and "Lorena" by a fencing match.
And, jumping to her feet, the woman ran to the door and flung it open. Yes, yes, it was in answer to her prayer; for there, over the turf, she could see a horse speeding towards her. It was coming at breakneck speed. "Wallula! Wallula!" she turned and called. An echo seemed to repeat, "Lula, Lula!"
All of Lily's guests had the air of being at home, and at that moment a young gentleman named Charley Goodwin, who was six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds, was loudly demanding cocktails. They were presently brought by a rather harassed-looking man-servant. "I can't get over how well you look in that gown, Lula," declared Mrs. Dallam, as they went out to dinner.
"No, she wasn't really shocked, not in the way she thought she was," said Nancy, in answer to a query of mine. "How was she shocked, then?" "As you and I are shocked." "But I'm not shocked," I protested. "Oh, yes, you are, and so am I not on the moral side, nor is it the moral aspect that troubles Lula Dickinson.
Chandos' cigarette mingled with the haze that hung between the ceiling and the floor, and that lady was in the act of saying cheerfully to Howard, who sat opposite, "Trixy's run off with her." Suddenly the chill of silence pervaded the room. Lula Chandos, whose back was turned to the door, looked from Mrs. Barclay to Howard, who, with the other men had risen to his feet.
"I think you were horrid to her," exclaimed Honora, indignantly. "It wouldn't have hurt you to drive her to Mrs. Darlington's." It did not occur to her that her rebuke implied a familiarity at which they had swiftly but imperceptibly arrived. "Oh, yes, it would hurt me," said he. "I'd rather spend a day in jail than drive with Lula in that frame of mind.
There, indeed, was Trixton Brent, staring at them from the end of the hall, and making no attempt to approach them. "I think I'll go into the dressing-room and leave my coat," said Honora, outwardly calm but inwardly desperate. Fortunately, Lula made no attempt to follow her. "You're a dream in that veil, my dear," Mrs. Chandos called after her.
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