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Updated: May 3, 2025
"So did you," retorted Mavick. "It is very curious," the Major explained, "how fashionable intelligence runs along this coast, apparently independent of the telegraph; everybody knows where everybody else is." The Tavish cottage was a summer palace of the present fashion, but there was one good thing about it: it had no tower, nor any make-believe balconies hung on the outside like bird-cages.
Mavick raised his glass and proposed the health of Miss Tavish. "With all my heart," the Major said; "my life is passed in returning good for evil." "I never knew before," and Miss Tavish bowed her acknowledgments, "the secret of the Major's attractions." "Yes," said Carmen, sweetly, "he is all things to all women." "You don't appear to have a friend here, Major," Mavick suggested.
"You mean that young swell whose business it is to drive a four-in-hand to Yonkers and back, and toot on a horn?" "Well, what of that? Everybody who is anybody, I mean all the girls, want to go on his coach." "Oh, Lord! I'd rather go on the Elevated." And Mavick laughed very heartily, for him. "Well, I'll make a compromise. You take Fogg and I'll take Burnett.
He met by chance one day on the Avenue Miss McDonald, and her greeting was so cordial that he knew that he had at least one friend in the house of Mavick. It was a warm spring day, a stray day sent in advance, as it were, to warn the nomads of the city that it was time to move on.
Fellows like Tom are always hunting up mares' nests in order to be paid for breaking them up." "I can't say about Tom," rejoined Mavick. "I suppose it is necessary to live." "I suppose so. And that goes along with another proposition that the successful have no rights which the unsuccessful are bound to respect.
"If you thought about it at all, Miss Mavick." "That is not like you, Mr. Burnett," Evelyn replied, looking up suddenly with troubled eyes. "I didn't mean that," said Philip, moving uneasily in his chair, "I so many things have happened. You know a person can be busy and not happy." "I know that. I was not always happy," said the girl, with the air of making a confession.
Philip did not tell his interlocutor that, so far as he knew, nobody in the country had ever heard the name of Olin Brad, or knew there was such a person in existence. But he went on: "Certainly. And, besides, there is a great curiosity to know about the girl. Did you ever see her?" "Only in public. I don't know Mavick personally, and for reasons," and Mr. Brad laughed in a superior manner.
Mavick he encountered continually in the village. He had taken many little strolls with her to this or that pretty point of view, they had exchanged reminiscences of foreign travel, and had dipped a little into current popular books, so that they had come to be on easy, friendly terms.
He met by chance one day on the Avenue Miss McDonald, and her greeting was so cordial that he knew that he had at least one friend in the house of Mavick. It was a warm spring day, a stray day sent in advance, as it were, to warn the nomads of the city that it was time to move on.
He betrayed this in a certain deliberation of speech, as if any remark from him now might be important. In a way he felt himself related to public affairs. In short, he had exchanged the curiosity of the reporter for the omniscience of the editor. And for a time Philip was restrained from intruding the subject of the Mavick sensation. However, one day after dinner he ventured: "I see, Mr.
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