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Updated: May 10, 2025
When the situation promoted her to be the head of the Marklin household, Bess had taken on a quiet, grave atmosphere of authority that was ten years older than her age. The Marklins were fair rich. Father Marklin had been a physician whose patients were women of fashion; and that makes a practice wherein your doctor may know less medicine and make more money than in any other walk of drugs.
Bess Marklin was assuredly right in her estimate of formalities, and their saving and securing worth. "Marriage!" repeated Dorothy, and her voice rang out in a composite note of love and triumph as she thought of Richard. "Marriage!" Mrs. Hanway-Harley was staggered. Here was a pathway of escape she had not counted on. "Whom would you marry?" "You shall not know," said Dorothy. Mrs.
He was near to tears as he related the imaginary sickness of a mother whom he had invented for the purpose. Dorothy's cool reserve continued. She sympathized, conversationally, and hoped that Storri would hurry to his expiring parent's side. Storri, like Richard, craved a rose and got it; but he fastened it upon his lapel himself. On Storri's fourth call Bess Marklin came in.
Then, looking him squarely in the eyes: "No, dear, it does not alarm me." Dorothy spoke truth. The prospect of being a poor man's wife alarms no woman before marriage. Richard was in a whirl when he left the Marklin door. Bess fairly drove him forth, or he might not have departed at all. The first shadows of night were falling, but the whole world seemed bright as noonday.
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