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Updated: May 11, 2025
Victoria, after leaving Euphrasia, made her way around the house towards Mr. Rangely, who was waiting in the runabout, her one desire for the moment being to escape. Before she had reached the sidewalk under the trees, Dr. Tredway had interrupted her. "Miss Flint," he called out, "I wanted to say a word to you before you went." "Yes," she said, stopping and turning to him.
He showed no inclination to fix the limits of his walk, and made no protest as she drove under the stone archway at the entrance of Fairview. Victoria was amused and interested, and she decided that she liked Mr. Rangely. "Will you come up for tea?" she asked. "I'll send you home." He accepted with alacrity.
Oh, I am too little, and altogether too civilized. I'd do better for a model of Monaco, thank you." "There is always a good deal of chance about you," Rangely said in her ear, as Mr. Staggchase spoke to Mr. Hubbard and drew his attention away. Mr. Staggchase was a thin, wintry man, looking, as Fenton once said, like the typical Yankee spoiled by civilization.
Victoria started. It was Euphrasia who was speaking, and unmistakable pride was in her voice. Fortunately for Victoria, who would not in the least have known what to reply, steps were heard on the porch, and Euphrasia opened the door. Mr. Rangely had returned. "Here's the doctor, Miss Flint," he said, "and I'll wait for you outside." Victoria rose as young Dr. Tredway came forward.
And Mr. Flint, despite his anger, vaguely interpreting her meaning, was taken aback. He had never seen anybody with such a look. And the unexpected quiet quality of her voice intensified his strange sensation. "A Mr. Rangely, an Englishman, who is staying at the Leith Inn, was here to dinner to-night. He has never been here before." "Austen Vane wasn't here to-night?" "Mr.
Pomfret, whom he had met at his uncle's seat in Devonshire, and about Mr. Crewe and the railroads in politics. Many of these Victoria parried, and she came rapidly to the conclusion that Mr. Arthur Rangely was a more astute person than to a casual observer he would seem.
Is Rangely to die?" "Pooh, it isn't Rangely. He's too insignificant. I can snub him any time. It's better fun than that." "Well, let's hear." "You know that Marion Delegass is to end her season with a week in Boston." "Well? You are not going to Boston to see her, are you? You've seen her in Paris and New York enough to last, I should think." "Oh, no; I'm going to meet her."
Crewe thought it obviously useless to continue this conversation. "The railroad," said the baron, "he is the modern Machiavelli." "I say," Mr. Rangely, the Englishman, remarked to Victoria, "this is a bit rough on you, you know." "Oh, I'm used to it," she laughed. "Mr. Crewe," said Mrs. Pomfret, to the table at large, "deserves tremendous credit for the fight he has made, almost single-handed.
Then, as she turned toward him, he smiled again, holding out his hand. "Surely you are not angry with me," he pleaded. "I care more for your feeling toward me than for anything else in the world." "It would amuse Mrs. Rangely to hear you say so, not to mention my husband." He stared at her with the air of a man not sure whether he is awake or dreaming.
Staggchase, ignoring her previous visit to a woman of whose existence it was only proper to assume her new acquaintances to be entirely unaware. Fred Rangely was shrewdly and humorously appreciative of her attitude, being the more keenly conscious of the exact situation because he himself made a point of ignoring his acquaintance with Mrs. Sampson.
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