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Updated: June 15, 2025
When mother sees that we all stand together about this " She waved her hand with a little air of finality. It was the second time in her life that she had made even a gesture toward freedom. The interview between Eleanor and her grandmother lasted for more than an hour, and nobody knew the outcome of it until the next morning, when a family council was called in Quin's room.
"Anything you wanted, sir?" he asked. Mr. Bangs looked about cautiously to make sure that nobody was in ear-shot, then he said abruptly: "I want you to come out to my place with me for overnight. I want to talk with you." Quin's amazement at this request was so profound that for a moment he did not answer.
"You been trying to get me into this for two weeks now you've got to see me through." It did not take long for the other patients to discover Quin's state of mind. "How about your heart disease, Graham?" they inquired daily; "think it's going to be chronic?" But Quin had little time for them.
She has had all the windows opened, and mother gave express orders that they were to be kept closed. Would you mind putting this one down? It makes such a draught." It was a high window and an obstinate one, and by the time it was down Quin's cuffs were six inches beyond his coat sleeves and his vest was bulging. "I don't want that window down," said a spirited voice behind him.
Just now, when every muscle in him was keeping time to that soul-disturbing music, he heard his own imperative desire voiced at his elbow: "I don't want to go home. I want to dance. Nobody will notice us. Just one round, Captain Phipps." The voice was young and singularly vibrant, and the demand in it was quite as insistent as the demand that was clamoring in Quin's own khaki-covered breast.
As they slowed up at the Bartlett house, their uneasiness was increased by the fact that lights were streaming from every window and the front door was standing open. "Is that the doctor?" an excited voice called to them from the porch. "No," called back Eleanor, scrambling out of the car. "What is the matter?" No answer being received, she clutched Quin's sleeve nervously.
A discontent with his former bookish life and quietude, a bitter feeling of revolt at that slavery in which he had chosen to confine himself for the sake of those whose hardness towards him make his heart bleed, a restless wish to see men and the world, led him to think of the military profession: at any rate, to desire to see a few campaigns, and accordingly he pressed his new patroness to get him a pair of colors; and one day had the honor of finding himself appointed an ensign in Colonel Quin's regiment of Fusileers on the Irish establishment.
When the dapper gentleman, thus addressed, turned toward him, it was evident that he had dined not wisely but too well. He was at that mellow stage that radiates affection, and, having bidden a loving farewell to the taxi driver, he now linked his arm in Quin's and repeated gaily: "'Risto? Of course I can find it for you, if it's where it was this morning!
Away he went with the letter: he was met on the road by a friend, who advised him to ride as hard after the collector as he could, to overtake him before he should reach Counsellor Quin's, where he was engaged to dine. Counsellor Quin was candidate for the county in opposition to Sir Hyacinth O'Brien; and it was well understood that whomsoever the one favoured the other hated.
It was such a week that tumbled unexpectedly out of Quin's calendar about the first of June, and lived itself in terms of sunshine and roses, of moonshine and melody, seven halcyon days between the time that Eleanor returned from school and the Bartletts went away for the summer.
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