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Updated: June 18, 2025
Tredgold's that evening, and was admitted by his host. The latter, with a somewhat trite remark about the virtues of punctuality, led the way upstairs and threw open the door of his study. "Here he is," he announced. A slender figure sitting bolt upright in a large grandfather-chair turned at their entrance, and revealed to the astonished Mr.
In response to his startled cry of "Come in!" the door opened and a small man, in a state of considerable agitation, burst into the room and confronted him. "My name is Chalk," he said, breathlessly. "A friend of Mr. Tredgold's?" said the captain. "I've heard of you, sir." The visitor paid no heed.
At the captain's door she paused, but the loud snoring of a determined man made her resolve to postpone her demands for an explanation to a more fitting opportunity. Tired, wet, and angry she gained her own room, and threw herself thoughtlessly into that famous old Chippendale chair which, in accordance with Mr. Tredgold's instructions, had been placed against the wall.
"She have very neat ankles," said John. "I call her a neat figure of a woman." "Don't tell me," said Betty. "Much you know what a neat figure of a woman means. Miss Tredgold's a haristocrat. Now, if you'll believe me, she's the moral image of the duchess." "What duchess?" cried John.
Tredgold's disposition, which its owner mistook for firmness, asserted itself. It was plain that the girl had estimated his services at their true value and was quite willing to apprise him of the fact. He tried the lock again, and with more bitterness than the occasion seemed to warrant said that somebody had been oiling it.
She saw it distinctly, despite the fact that her clear, grey eyes were fixed dreamily on a spot some distance above his head. She sat in her room upstairs after the visitors had gone, thinking it over. The light was fading fast, and as she sat at the open window the remembrance of Mr. Tredgold's conduct helped to mar one of the most perfect evenings she had ever known.
"It is ages since we met," said Mr. Dale. "You are looking very well, Robert admirably well. I am pleased to see you. Sit down, won't you? Pray sit down." "That man is enough to turn the brain of any one," was Miss Tredgold's private ejaculation. Aloud she said: "I presume, Farmer King, that you have not come here without a story to tell." "That is just it, madam.
Tredgold's eye over the top of it, sniffed more loudly than before. "Have you told Edward that you are going to sea?" inquired Mr. Chalk, leaning over to Tredgold. "Certainly not," was the reply; "I don't want anybody to know till the last possible moment. You haven't given your wife any hint as to why you are going to Biddlecombe to-day, have you?" Mr. Chalk shook his head.
Miss Tredgold told more interesting and fascinating stories of her own life than she had ever told before. The girls listened to her with the most absorbed attention. As a rule Miss Tredgold's stories carried a moral with them; but the birthday stories had no moral. Pauline waited for one. She waited with a sort of trembling dread.
The look of relief on her face, therefore, when Miss Tredgold told her that they were to pack their things that day, and that she, Verena, and herself would start for Easterhaze at an early hour on the following morning, was almost beyond words. "Why is you giving Pauline this great big treat?" asked Penelope. "Little girls should be seen and not heard," was Miss Tredgold's remark.
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