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Updated: May 12, 2025
"As a matter of fact, Burns has that." By the look of triumph in her eyes I knew I had told her what she wanted to know. She went below soon after, and I warned Burns that he would probably be approached in the same way. "Not that I am afraid," I added. "But keep the little Sloane woman at a distance.
"No: I live in Sloane street, but the underground railway brings me here in a very short time." That mention of Sloane street gave a twinge to Sheila's heart. Ought she to have been so ready to accept offers of new friendship just as her old friend had been banished from her? "In Sloane street? Do you know Mr. Ingram?" "Oh yes, very well. Do you?"
She thought that if she spent all the afternoon out and alone, it would comfort her, and she would think it out. Trees and sky and sun had always a soothing effect on her. She went out, walked a little, felt worried by the crowd of shoppers swarming to Sloane Street and the Brompton Road, got into a taxi and drove to the gate of Kensington Gardens, opposite Kensington Gore.
I sat down, and for half an hour we talked of many things of my journey, of my impressions of America, of my reminiscences of Europe, and, by implication, of my prospects. His voice is weak and cracked, but he makes it express everything. Mr. Sloane is not yet in his dotage oh no! He nevertheless makes himself out a poor creature. "I live out of mere curiosity," he said.
"A little whiskey, Jarvis," he said softly. "I'm exhausted, Tom. Leave me alone." Wilton waved his hand, indicative of the futility of further argument. "Judge," announced Hastings, at the door, "I'll ask you a question I put to Mr. Sloane. Did you receive, or see, a letter in an oblong, grey envelope in yesterday afternoon's mail?" "No. I never get any mail while I'm here for a week-end."
Charlie Sloane, sitting bolt upright on Miss Ada's most dearly beloved cushion, asked Anne one night if she would promise "to become Mrs. Charlie Sloane some day." Coming after Billy Andrews' proxy effort, this was not quite the shock to Anne's romantic sensibilities that it would otherwise have been; but it was certainly another heart-rending disillusion.
Arthur Sloane and Judge Wilton gave him cool welcome, parading for his benefit an obvious and insolent boredom. Although uninvited to sit down, he caught up a chair and swung it lightly into such position that, when he seated himself, he faced them across the table. He was smiling, enough to indicate a general satisfaction with the world.
He had not lost all command of himself, however, and as he went down Sloane Street he framed a story for use, in case he should not find her at Bosinney's. But if he should? His power of decision again failed; he reached the house without knowing what he should do if he did find her there. It was after office hours, and the street door was closed; the woman who opened it could not say whether Mr.
She coloured her words with feeling at last it was contempt putting the sheriff beyond the pale of further consideration. "You were saying Mr. Webster had to marry Miss Sloane. What do you mean by that, Mrs. Brace?" "Money reasons. He had to have money. His bank balance is never more than a thousand dollars. He's got to produce sixty-five thousand dollars by the seventh of next September.
He knew now that neither his sense of duty nor his fee was the deciding influence. He stayed because this girl needed him, because he had seen in her eyes last night the haggard look of an unspeakable suspicion. "You wanted to see me is there anything special?" she asked him, immediately alert. "Yes; there is, Miss Sloane," he said, careful to put into his voice all the sympathy he felt for her.
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