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Updated: June 2, 2025
You'll come, won't you, Miss Maybough?" "If mamma will let me," said Charmian, meekly. "Of course! Suppose we go ask her?" The friends of Mrs. Maybough had now reduced themselves to Wetmore, who sat beside her, looking over at the little tea-table group. Ludlow led the rest toward her. "What an imprudence," he called out, "when I'd just been booming you!
But some had formed themselves upon them, and you could tell which each of these was studying under; or this was what Charmian Maybough said.
Now you come up in person to spoil everything." Ludlow presented his petition, and Mrs. Maybough received it with her provisional anxiety till he named the day for the visit. She said she had an engagement for Saturday afternoon, and Ludlow ventured, "Then perhaps you'd let the young ladies come with a friend of mine: Mrs. Westley. She'll be glad to call for them, I'm sure." "Mrs.
Montgomery's, and before he sat down he began to say: "I want to ask your advice, Miss Saunders, about what I shall do with my sketch of Miss Maybough." Cornelia blenched, for no reason that she could think of; she could not gasp out the "Yes" that she tried to utter. "You see," he went on, "I know that I've disappointed Mrs.
"Oh, no," Cornelia protested. "Of course she is!" said Charmian. "Everybody works too hard at the Synthesis. It's the ideal of the place. We woke her out of a nap, and I know she was tired to death." Cornelia could not deny it, and so she said nothing. "Oh!" said Mrs. Maybough, non-committally; "that won't do."
She pushed a ginger-snap between her lips, and chewed enigmatically upon it. "See?" she said. "Now, look here, Charmian Maybough," said Cornelia sternly, "if you ever mention that again, or allude to it the least in the world " "Don't I say I won't?" demanded Charmian, jumping up. "That will be the whole fun of it.
"A letter for you, miss. It came about an hour after you went out. The messenger said he wasn't to wait for an answer, and Mrs. Maybough thought she needn't send it to you at the Synthesis. She wanted me to tell you, miss." "Oh, it is all right, thank you," said Cornelia, with a tremor which she could not repress at the sight of Ludlow's handwriting. Charmian put her arm round her.
"I see, you worship her," said Miss Maybough fervidly, keeping her gaze fixed upon Cornelia. "You are homesick!" "I'm not homesick!" said Cornelia, angry that she should be so and that she should be denying it. "Mine," said the other, "died while I was a baby. She had Indian blood," she added in the same way in which she had said her name was Charmian. "Did she?" Cornelia asked.
But by one of those sudden flashes that seem to come from somewhere without, he saw himself in the odious light in which she must see him, and he turned in time. "Mrs. Westley, I think you have taken a great deal more pains for me than I'm worth. It's difficult to care what such a poor little Philistine as Mrs. Maybough the mere figment of somebody else's misgotten money thinks of me.
"No; I don't see why I didn't tell you at once," said Ludlow. "It's your friend, Miss Maybough." Cornelia relieved her nerves with a laugh. "I wonder how she ever kept from telling it." "Perhaps she didn't know. I've only just got a letter from her mother, asking me to paint her, and I haven't decided yet that I shall do it."
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