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Updated: May 29, 2025
Then Narramore called to Birching, and the talk became general again. The next morning they drove about Paris, all together. Narramore, though it was his first visit to the city, declined to see anything which demanded exertion, and the necessity for quenching his thirst recurred with great frequency. Early in the afternoon he proposed that they should leave Paris that very evening.
"On her side, never for a moment. I pursued and pestered her, that was all." "Do you mind telling me who the girl was that I saw you with at Dudley?" "A friend of Miss Madeley's, over here from London on a holiday. I have tried to make use of her to get her influence on my side " Narramore sprang from the corner of the table on which he had been sitting. "Why couldn't she hold her tongue!
"I couldn't stand this heat," remarked Narramore, who, in the very lightest of tourist garbs, sprawled upon a divan, and drank something iced out of a tall tumbler. "We shouldn't have stopped here at all if it hadn't been for you. The idea is that you should go on with us." "Can't impossible " "Why, what are you doing here besides roasting?" "Eating and drinking just what suits my digestion."
What has been going on? You have seen her?" "Of course." Narramore glared. "It's devilish underhand behaviour! Look here, old fellow, we're nut going to quarrel. No woman is worth a quarrel between two old friends. But just speak out can't you? What did you mean by keeping it from me?" "It meant that I had nothing to say," Hilliard replied, through his moustache.
Better than one could have looked for." Hilliard related the circumstances. Then he drew from his pocket an oblong slip of paper, and held it out. "Dengate?" cried his friend. "How the deuce did you get hold of this?" Explanation followed. They debated Dengate's character and motives. "I can understand it," said Narramore.
He grew a beard, which added to his seeming age, but suited with his features; his carriage was more upright than of old. A week or two after this, Narramore sent a friendly note "Shall I see you at Birching's on Sunday? My wife will be there, to meet Miss Marks and some other people. Come if you can, old fellow. I should take it as a great kindness." And Hilliard went.
"You wouldn't have enjoyed yourself half so much. You amused me by your description of Mr. Narramore, in the letter from Geneva." "The laziest rascal born! But the best-tempered, the easiest to live with. A thoroughly good fellow; I like him better than ever. Of course he is improved by coming in for money who wouldn't be, that has any good in him at all?
The three young men consumed a good deal of wine, and after dinner strolled about the streets, until Narramore's fatigue and thirst brought them to a pause at a cafe on the Boulevard des Italiens. Birching presently moved apart, to reach a newspaper, and remained out of earshot while Narramore talked with his other friend. "What's going on?" he began. "What are you doing here?
As if more completely to dismiss the unpleasant subject, they walked into another room. Hilliard began to speak again of his scheme for providing a place where they could meet and talk at their ease. Eve now entered into it with frank satisfaction. "Have you said anything yet to Mr. Narramore?" she asked at length. "No. I have never felt inclined to tell him. Of course I shall some day.
He checked himself. Narramore looked at him with curiosity. "It's a queer thing to me, Hilliard," he remarked, when his friend turned away, "that you've kept so clear of women. Now, anyone would think you were just the fellow to get hobbled in that way." "I daresay," muttered the other. "Yes, it is a queer thing. I have been saved, I suppose, by the necessity of supporting my relatives.
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