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Updated: May 13, 2025
The old lady greeted him kindly. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. Wynne," she said. "I hope that your arm does not trouble you at all." "Not at all. I was too well taken care of at Brookfield." Mrs. Staggchase laughed, spreading out her hands. "There," said she gayly, "you see! He has only been in my hands a few weeks, but I call that a very pretty speech."
However, she has her ancestors safe in their graves so that they can't escape her." Mrs. Staggchase smiled good-naturedly at the little fling at her own family pretensions. "You are wicked this morning, Fred," was her reply. "Elsie is something of a sport on the ancestral tree; but she is worth visiting. Berenice Morison is going down there sometime soon.
"Then it is Mr. Wynne. But I thought" "He isn't a priest any more," Berenice struck in, replying to the unspoken doubt as if it had been in her own mind. "I heard yesterday that he has left the Clergy House for good, and is staying with Mrs. Staggchase." "Have you seen him lately?" "He overtook me on the street yesterday." Mrs. Frostwinch put out her hand with a loving gesture.
"One never knows undesirable people, my dear," Mrs. Staggchase responded, without the faintest shadow of the sarcastic intent which her guest yet secretly felt in her words. "Bless me!" broke in Elsie Dimmont, with characteristic explosiveness. "What an abandoned creature I must be! I am actually going to the Fenton's to dine to-night." "Mr. Fenton," Mrs.
"Why didn't you?" "Father Frontford wouldn't allow it. He said that a continual sacrifice meant more than an act that stripped me of power to decide, and which might be regretted." "That was a noble temper," Mrs. Staggchase remarked thoughtfully. "A priest is a strange being. As for you, you say you have never believed, and yet you would have given up everything you possessed."
Staggchase, or led on by Miss Merrivale. He went about in a state of continual astonishment at the extent to which he had committed himself with the latter, and fell into that dangerous mental condition where one seems passively to regard his own actions rather than to direct them.
"I knew that she was to send me tickets," Maurice Wynne said, standing with an open note in his hand. "She insisted upon that; but why should she send parlor-car checks too?" "It is all part of your temptation," Mrs. Staggchase responded, smiling. "Of course if you go as the representative of Mrs. Wilson it is fitting that you go in state. If you were to represent the church now"
He opened the letter at the breakfast table, and was advised by his cousin to accept. "Mrs. Wilson," she commented, "is like a banjo, more exciting than refined, but she isn't bad-hearted. She has the old Boston blood and traditions behind her." "They are sometimes rather far behind," interpolated Mr. Staggchase dryly. "She wasn't a Beauchester, you know.
Perhaps she will be there with you, Maurice." "I thought," Mr. Staggchase observed, "that old Mrs. Morison didn't approve of Mrs. Wilson." "Nobody approves of Elsie," was Mrs. Staggchase's calm reply. "I'm sure I don't; but after all she is a sort of cousin of Berenice, and she can't very well refuse to visit her. Really, there is nothing bad about Elsie.
The parlors were filling when they arrived, and Arthur, who knew how to select good company, managed to secure a seat between Miss Elsie Dimmont, a young and rather gay society girl, and Mrs. Frederick Staggchase, a descendant of an old Boston family, who was called one of the cleverest women of her set. "Is Mr. Fenwick going to read?" he asked of the latter, glancing about to see who was present.
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