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Updated: May 5, 2025
"What will this child do next?" Mrs. Presty exclaimed. Kitty told the truth. "I can't go to sleep, grandmamma." "Why not, my darling?" her mother asked. "I'm so excited, mamma." "About what, Kitty?" "About my dinner-party to-morrow. Oh," said the child, clasping her hands earnestly as she thought of her playfellows, "I do so hope it will go off well!" Presty.
"I make no remark, Catherine; I don't even want to know what you and Miss Westerfield said to each other. At the same time, as a matter of convenience to myself, I wish to ascertain whether I must leave this hotel or not. The same house doesn't hold that woman and ME. Has she gone?" "She has gone." Mrs. Presty looked round the room. "And taken Kitty with her?" she asked. "Don't speak of Kitty!"
Presty continued, when they were alone again, "to expect the child to read, and draw her own conclusions, while her head is full of fishing! If there are any fish in the brook, she won't catch them. When she comes back disappointed and says: 'What am I to do now? the 'Disasters at Sea' will have a chance.
Presty reckoned up the items of information, and pointed the moral to be drawn from them by worldly experience. "First obstacle in the way of her moral development, her father tried, found guilty, and dying in prison. Second obstacle, her mother an unnatural wretch who neglected and deserted her own flesh and blood.
"I think I understand, mamma. A masterly anatomy of human motives which is in itself a motive of human sleep. No; I won't borrow your novel just now. I don't want to go to sleep; I am thinking of Herbert in London." Mrs. Presty consulted her watch. "Your husband is no longer in London," she announced; "he has begun his journey home.
It's as good as the gras double at the Cafe Anglais in Paris." "So it is; I wasn't paying proper attention to it. But I am anxious about Catherine. Why did she go abroad?" "Haven't you heard from her?" "Not for six months or more. I innocently vexed her by writing a little too hopefully about Herbert. Mrs. Presty answered my letter, and recommended me not to write again.
Mrs. Presty reluctantly consented to this proposal, on one condition. "It is understood," she stipulated "that I am to see you the first thing in the morning?" Mrs. Linley was ready to accept that condition, or any condition, which promised her a night of uninterrupted repose. She crossed the room to her husband, and took his arm.
Under ordinary circumstances, her mother would have tried to calm her. But Mrs. Presty had turned to the next page of the letter, at the moment when her daughter spoke. What she found written, on that other side, produced a startling effect on her. She crumpled the letter up in her hand, and threw it into the fireplace. It fell under the grate instead of into the grate.
Left by himself, Randal got rid of the parasol by putting it on a table near the door. Mrs. Presty beckoned to him to join her at the further end of the room. "I want you to do me a favor," she began. Glancing at Linley before she proceeded, Mrs. Presty took up a newspaper, and affected to be consulting Randal's opinion on a passage which had attracted her attention.
At the same time it ought to be remembered, I think, in my favor, that I have had some provocation." "I don't agree with you," Mrs. Presty answered. She was deaf to any appeal for mercy from Herbert Linley. "As to provocation," she added, returning to her chair without asking him to be seated, "when you apply that word to yourself, you insult my daughter and me. You provoked? Oh, heavens!"
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