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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Run in and bring him out," suggested Miss Thorley, sitting down in one of the wicker chairs that were under the big apple tree that had lived there ever since Waloo had been some man's farm. Mary Rose disappeared but before Miss Thorley had looked half over the yard she was back. "He's asleep," she said in a loud whisper. "Do come in and see him.
He was a bachelor, and his lordship averred would be a prodigious great match for some of our Irish ladies. Chapelizod would be his headquarters while in Ireland. No, he was not sure he rather thought he was not of the Thorley family; and so on for a mighty long time.
Aunt Bessy was tolerated for her husband's sake, but it was Uncle Samuel who drew the lad to Thorley. In due time Alan began to teach in his father's school, and before he was twenty-one had taken his degree at London University. Then his mother died, and shortly afterwards he was left comparatively alone in the world.
Uncle Larry looked over her head to Mr. Jerry. "I can't thank you, sir," he said in a hushed voice, "but you've been a kind friend to the little girl today." "She's such a darling one has to be kind to her." Miss Thorley answered for Mr. Jerry and blushed when she realized it. "Don't you bother, Mr. Donovan. I'm like Mary Rose, I know everything will be all right." "I hope so, Miss Thorley.
"The princess, I mean the other lady," she colored pinkly as Miss Carter laughed, "said we were to advertise Mr. Bingham Henderson's jam." Mary Rose always made a careful explanation. "If she would like two birds I'm almost sure that Mrs. Schuneman would loan her Germania." "Do you want two birds, Bess?" called Miss Carter, and Miss Thorley came in.
"If you feel that way you surely aren't under the spell of that wicked witch Independence that Mary Rose talks of." There was nothing scornful in his laugh. It held so little scorn and so much admiration that she flushed. "Independence!" she shrugged her shoulders. "I learned long ago that independence is just another word for loneliness. My friend, Miss Thorley, doesn't agree with me.
"It doesn't make me cross to hear of a place where people are kind and friendly. My conscience is perfectly clear." He spoke as if he were very proud of his clear conscience. Miss Thorley pushed back her chair. "It doesn't make me cross," she said, "only " They waited courteously to hear what would follow "only," but nothing ever did.
And there, behind a great clump of tall lilac bushes, he put his arms around them both. He kissed them both, too, Mary Rose first and hurriedly and then Miss Thorley, second and lingeringly. "You dear you darling!" he said to Miss Thorley and his breath came quickly and his eyes shone. He kissed her again. "You dearest! I've been the most patient lover on the footstool.
"He's an awful brute, isn't he?" continued the young enquirer, a candid Thorley, who was evidently preparing to enter the lists as the lady's champion. "The very worst; I knew him at Nice," said Lawrence Lefferts with authority. "A half-paralysed white sneering fellow rather handsome head, but eyes with a lot of lashes.
He had been in love with Elizabeth Thorley ever since one night, almost a year ago, when he had looked across a room and seen her red-brown hair, her oval face with its uplifted pointed chin, and met her laughing eyes. He had held her gaze for the fraction of a moment and in that time his heart had stopped beating. When it began again the world was a very different place to him.
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