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Updated: May 11, 2025
"The difference between religion and art," broke out Rangely, hurriedly, to cover the awkward silence which followed, "is that religion is a matter of tradition, of convention; it rests upon authority, while art springs from inner conviction." "Sophistry," retorted the German, picking up the gauntlet; "there have been a good many things said here to-night which sound well but won't stand fire.
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.
You ask what else there was to lose; I should think that was enough. Why, Janet Graham says she never had such a lovely time in her life." "Is Miss Graham engaged to Fred Gore?" Rangely asked. Ethel's gesture of dissent showed how little she would have approved of such a consummation. "No, indeed," she returned.
True, Rangely Field did throw me down and wash my face in snow, and Jack Sweet tripped me up once or twice, but I bore these indignities with such grace and could command, and soon made a place for myself among the boys. Burton Babcock was my seat-mate, and at once became my chum. You will hear much of him in this chronicle.
At any rate you may come round about ten o'clock." Rangely was too far away to catch, amid the babble of the crowd, a single word of this conversation, but he noted the looks which the pair exchanged. "Oh, do come along," a corpulent lady in the crowd observed to her companion. "We've seen everybody here that we know, and I want to go down to Winter Street and get some buttons for my grey dress.
Irons was talking to Mrs. Sampson about, the night we dined there to meet Miss Merrivale." Rangely glanced up in vexation, to see if Miss Mott were listening, and caught a gleam of mischievous intelligence from her eyes. "I don't remember it," he answered ambiguously. "But how do you know," persisted Edith, "that the information came from Miss Blake?" "Because Mr.
She had made up her mind from a variety of causes that she should, on the whole, prefer to marry in Boston, although in reality this meant simply that she wanted to marry Fred Rangely.
"Thanks for nothing. She has not been to see me. She invited me to dine and I declined, and then she wrote and asked me to visit there when I finished my stay here." "Shall you do it?" The thought with which Rangely asked this question was one oddly mingled of regret and of hope. He had flirted too seriously with Miss Merrivale to wish to meet her at Mrs.
'Good- morning, he said, 'I hope you weren't frightened. 'Frightened? I said, 'what at? 'Do you mean to say you didn't know I was out all night? 'I hadn't an idea of it, said I. He'd been playing cards at the club all night, and had just come in. He says that the next time, he shan't take the trouble to expose himself." Rangely laughed in a somewhat perfunctory way.
The widow's acquaintance among women whom she could ask to meet the New Yorker was limited, and having decided upon inviting Greenfield, Irons, and Rangely to dinner, the hostess sat gnawing her stylographic pen in despair a good half hour before she could decide upon a fourth guest. A woman she must have, and few women whom she wished to ask would come to her house even to call.
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