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Men older than he were willing to accept him as their leader; men younger than he idolized him. Ronicky Doone, then, the admired of all beholders, is leaning in the doorway of Stillwater's second and best hotel. His bandanna today is a terrific yellow, set off with crimson half-moon and stars strewn liberally on it.
She felt sure that there she should be perfectly safe from intrusion, as she knew that the door leading from the parlor into the corridor was secured from within by a strong bolt, and the other two doors led, the one into her own little room, and the other, on the opposite side, into Mrs. Stillwater's. So that she would be as secluded as in her own chamber.
And if any three-thousand-dollar-a-year professor, through a too strict respect for Stillwater's standards of learning, should lose to that institution a half-million-dollar observatory, swimming-pool, or gymnasium, he was the sort of college president, who would see to it that the college lost also the services of that too conscientious instructor.
Stillwater's blooming youth! I saw her once by chance. She looked a perfect Hebe of radiant health and beauty." Cora Rothsay smiled. She might have told this little lady that there was not much more difference between the ages of Rose Stillwater at thirty-seven and Aaron Rockharrt at seventy-seven than there was between Violet Wood at seventeen and Fabian Rockharrt at fifty-two.
The absent Mr. Stillwater's rooms were comfortable and pleasant; one glance around them decided Triffitt. "This place will suit me very well," he said. "Now I'll give you satisfactory references about myself, and pay you a month's rent in advance, and if that's all right to you, I'll come in today.
Stillwater was staying, and engaged rooms for their whole party. They scarcely took time enough to wash the travel dust from their faces and brush it from their hair, and change their traveling suits for fresher dresses, before they hurried down stairs to their private parlor, whence Mrs. Rockharrt sent her own and her granddaughter's cards to Mrs. Stillwater's room.
What deviltry are you plotting now to add to poor old Stillwater's nervous indigestion?" "I'm thinking about marriage," said Craig, lighting a cigarette and dropping into the faded magnificence of an ex-salon chair. "Good business!" exclaimed Arkwright. "It's far more important that you get married than that I do," explained Craig. "At present you don't amount to a damn.
And I am glad that you understand that," replied Mr. Rockharrt. Rose was trembling for fear that her benefactor would betray her as the suggester of the question, but he did not. Cora had received no letter from her Uncle Fabian in answer to hers announcing the fact of Mrs. Stillwater's presence at Rockhold. Mr.
I could not see you; but then I was about to speak, when I recognized another voice Mrs. Stillwater's. You had let yourself in by your own key, through the door leading from the hall. She had come in through the door leading from her room, which was on the opposite side of the parlor from mine." Cora paused to wait for the effect of her words. Mr. Fabian drove on slowly in silence.
You might have taken him for a physician, or a journalist, or the secretary of an insurance company; but you would never have supposed him the man who had disentangled the complicated threads of the great Barnabee Bank defalcation. Stillwater's confidence, which had risen into the nineties, fell to zero at sight of him. "Is that Taggett?" they asked.
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