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Updated: June 17, 2025
To this the lean young lady retorted that it was with precisely similar reflection that she herself controlled her own feelings when tempted to resent the fat young lady's "nasty jealous temper." The threatened quarrel was nipped in the bud by the discretion of Miss Sellars, who took the opportunity of the fat young lady's momentary speechlessness to introduce me promptly to both of them.
"There don't seem to be much of the fiery and untamed about him, so far as I can see." "'Slow waters run deep," reminded us Aunt Gutton, with a waggish shake of her head. "No question about the slow," assented Uncle Gutton. "If you don't like him " observed Miss Sellars, speaking with dignity.
The fastidiousness finikinness; if you will that would so often spoil my rare chop, put before me by a waitress with dirty finger-nails, forced me to disregard the ample charms she no doubt did possess, to fasten my eyes exclusively upon her red, rough hands and the one or two warts that grew thereon. "You're a very naughty boy," told me Miss Sellars, finishing the fastening of her hat.
George Sellars. "Seen 'im before," was his curt greeting. At supper referred to by Mrs. Sellars again in the tone of one remembering a lesson, as a cold col-la-tion, with the accent on the "tion" I sat between Miss Sellars and the lean young lady, with Aunt and Uncle Gutton opposite to us. It was remarked with approval that I did not appear to be hungry.
"To be quite candid with you, my girl, I don't," answered Uncle Gutton, whose temper, maybe as the result of too much cold pork and whiskey, seemed to have suddenly changed. "Well, he happens to be good enough for me," recommenced Miss Sellars. "I'm sorry to hear a niece of mine say so," interrupted Uncle Gutton. "If you want my opinion of him "
Miss Sellars, retaining her gloves which was perhaps wise, her hands being her weak point signalled me out, much to my embarrassment, as the recipient of her most polite conversation. Mrs. Peedles became reminiscent of parties generally. Seeing that most of Mrs. Peedles' former friends and acquaintances were either dead or in more or less trouble, her efforts did not tend to enliven the table.
Miss Sellars' languishing eyes were fixed upon me; Miss Sellars' red lips pouted and twitched; Miss Sellars' white bosom rose and fell. Never, so it seemed to me, had so large an amount of beauty been concentrated in one being. "Yeserdo," I said. "I love you." I stooped to kiss the red lips, but something was in my way. It turned out to be a cold cigar.
Outside, Miss Sellars agreed that my presentiment had proved correct that I had not shone to advantage. Our journey home on a tramcar was a somewhat silent proceeding. At the door of her room she forgave me, and kissed me good night. Had I been frank with her, I should have thanked her for that evening's experience. It had made my course plain to me.
This suggested a personal aspersion on my character. "Not allus," I murmured. "You don't know what love is," said Miss Sellars. "You're not old enough." The O'Kelly had passed on to Sullivan's "Sweethearts," then in its first popularity. "Oh, love for a year a week a day!
"Mother in the droaring-room?" enquired Miss Sellars, ignoring the retort. "They're all of 'em in the parlour, if that's what you mean," returned the lank young man, "the whole blooming shoot. If you stand up against the wall and don't breathe, there'll just be room for you." Sweeping by the lank young man, Miss Sellars opened the parlour door, and towing me in behind her, shut it.
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