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Updated: May 10, 2025
But that had been in the days when the placers petered out, when there were no wagon roads nor tugs to draw in sailing vessels across the perilous bar, and when his lonely grist mill had been run under armed guards to keep the marauding Klamaths off while wheat was ground. Like father, like son, and what Isaac Travers had grasped, Frederick Travers had held. It had been the same tenacity of hold.
MRS. CAMPION. "Cynicism and mockery were not so much the fashion among young men in your father's day as I suppose they are now, and therefore they seem new to Mr. Travers. To me they are not new, because I saw more of the old than the young when I lived in London, and cynicism and mockery are more natural to men who are leaving the world than to those who are entering it." CECILIA. "Dear Mrs.
Rayner, turning quickly upon them. Mr. Royce hesitated, and with shame be it said allowed Miss Travers to meet the question: "At Mr. Hayne's, Kate." There was the same awkward silence that always followed the mention of Hayne's name. Mrs. Rayner looked annoyed. It was evident that she wanted more information, wanted to ask, but was restrained. Royce determined to be outspoken.
"Sarah is very hasty, and of course you know how Tavia loves to tease." "But it seems this was no nonsense. Mr. Ford declared he would make Mr. Travers pay the girl's doctor bill." "Did he really? I had not heard that. But Tavia was not to blame. Sarah has admitted it was all a misunderstanding."
More than that, there seemed added proof of the truth of young Bawdrey's assertion that she and Captain Travers were in league with each other, for that day they were constantly together, constantly getting off into out-of-the-way places, and constantly talking in an undertone of something that seemed to worry them.
"Your brother would gladly do anything in his power to make you happy; at the same time he wishes you to understand that in providing for you he is only carrying out his father's intentions, and that you will owe it to your father, and not to him." "But I shall still feel the same gratitude to my brother, Mr. Travers." "Well, no harm can come of that, and we cannot help our feelings.
"Just a poor devil who worships the ground you tread on." Dora laughed scornfully. "Second edition!" said she. "The first dedicated to Miss Travers." Dora shot it almost looked as if something had shot her, as it used, in old days, Miss Zazel up from her seat. "I thought I was talking to a gentleman," said she, "I suppose you'll use that expression about me in a week."
Miss Moffatt, will you see if she is dead? I dare not trust myself." It was late that night, in Priscilla's room at the inn, that she and Margaret had their talk. Priscilla lay upon her bed weak and bruised, but otherwise safe. Margaret sat beside her, her hand in Priscilla's. "Doctor Travers has pulled himself together at last," she said. "I never saw a strong man so shattered.
Then Ernest Travers and his wife old and dear friends of Sir Walter played a hundred up, the lady receiving half the game. Mr. Travers was a Suffolk man, and had fagged for Sir Walter at Eton. Their comradeship had lasted a lifetime, and no year passed without reciprocal visits. Travers also looked at life with the eyes of a wealthy man.
It was not altogether surprising that the two men had little in common, and on Travers' side there was added a certain amount of satisfied spite.
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