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So Eileen and Larry talked all the way to church, and that was two miles and a half of talk, the shortest way you could go. Just as they neared the church, what should they see but Grannie Malone, coming in grandeur, riding on a jaunting-car! Beside her was a big man with a tall hat on his head. "'Tis her son Michael, back from the States!" cried the Twins. "He said in a letter he was coming."
Lizzie on her hopeful way back to the alley, confident that Michael, the angel of the alley, would do something for her, heard the boys crying the afternoon edition of the paper, and was seized with a desire to see if her husband's picture would be in again. She could ill spare the penny from her scanty store that she spent for it, but then, what was money in a case like this?
The general design is a heavy sarcophagus of colored marble, with the figures of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture as mourners, and Michael Angelo's bust above, the whole assuming a pyramidal form.
He really thought this was true, and Wendy, who was now in her night-gown, believed it also, and she said, to encourage Michael, "That medicine you sometimes take, father, is much nastier, isn't it?" "Ever so much nastier," Mr. Darling said bravely, "and I would take it now as an example to you, Michael, if I hadn't lost the bottle."
The task was begun in the fifteenth century; in 1506 it was taken up by Pope Julius II with his usual energy, and it was continued all through the sixteenth century and well into the seventeenth, under the direction of a succession of the most famous artist-architects of the time, including Raphael and Michael Angelo.
But the days had multiplied to weeks and still the silence which had followed remained unbroken. As far as Magda was concerned, Michael seemed to have walked straight out of her life, and she was too proud and too much hurt to inquire amongst her friends for news of him. It was her godmother who finally tersely enlightened her as to his whereabouts.
Then, oh, blessed moment! the fat Frenchwoman looked out of the kitchen window just above his head. "Diner, m'sieu," she said, and Michael, without another thought of ambulance or aeroplane, scrambled to his feet.
At the first possible pause, Michael addressed her again: "Since you knew the lady in life who is now my ghost and she told you of Binko did she not say anything else about her visit to Arranstoun or its master?" "Nothing it was all apparently a blank horror, and she probably wanted to forget it and him."
Michael had not the light hand, which is so necessary when young men work together in a companionship of which the cordiality is an essential part of the work; neither had he in the social side of life that particular and inimitable sort of easy self-confidence which, as he had said just now, enables its owner to float.
This confession of his feelings for her was so sudden, a thing so far beyond his self-control and so inevitable, that Margaret made no attempt to withstand it. The beauty of it humbled her to silence; the generosity of life and its gift to her bewildered her. Two tears rolled quickly down her cheeks. Michael saw them and loved her all the more tenderly.
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