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Updated: June 7, 2025
She was attired in a simple evening gown,—an old one, she hastily would have informed a woman visitor,—and it was hard for him to believe that this was not the lovely, riant Anne Tresslyn of a year ago instead of the hardened mistress of Templeton Thorpe's home. There was no sign of confusion or uncertainty in her manner, and not the remotest indication that her heart still owned love for him.
He was on the point of ordering a taxi-cab when his attention was drawn to a figure that lurked well back in the shadows of the Berkeley Theatre down the street—a tall figure in a long ulster. Despite the darkness, Simmy's intense stare convinced him that it was George Tresslyn who stood over there and gazed from beneath lowered brows at the bright doorway.
He wouldn't say much, however. Some sort of a slip, I gathered. Something to do with the pylorus, I know. It must be a vital spot." The day after the funeral, George Tresslyn called to see his sister. He found that it required a new sort of courage on his part to enter the house, even after his hesitation about pressing the door-bell.
Tresslyn, it wasn't for the purpose of beating my way to the devil as fast as I could. I took it for an entirely different reason: to put myself where I could tell other people to go to him if I felt so inclined. I took it so that I could make of myself, if possible, the sort of woman that George Tresslyn might have married without stirring up a row in the family.
Go on," said Braden, suddenly sitting up in his chair and taking a long, deep breath. The angry, antagonistic light was gone from his eyes. "Well, the clever Mrs. Tresslyn was interested—deeply interested in my disclosures.
Tresslyn, she has told me a hundred times that she would marry me if I were as poor as the raggedest beggar in the streets. She loves me, she cannot play this vile trick on me. Her heart is pure. You cannot make me believe that she isn't honest and fair and loyal. I tell you now, once and for all, that I will not stand idly by and see this vile sacrifice made in order to—"
He spoke up like a little man, didn't he, mother? I thought he would. And I'll bet you gave him as good as he sent, so he's got his tail between his legs now and yelping for mercy. How does he look, Anne? Handsome as ever?" "Anne did not see him." "Of course she didn't. How stupid of me. Where is he stopping?" "With his grandfather, I suppose," said Mrs. Tresslyn, as tolerant as possible.
Dodge that he came into our place half an hour ago and said he wanted to go up to his friend's apartment. He was clean gone then. He wanted to lick the head porter for saying Mr. Dodge didn't live in the buildin'. We saw in a minute that he hadn't been drinkin'. Just as we was about to call an ambulance, a gentleman in our building came along and reckonised him as young Mr. Tresslyn. Friend of Mr.
Are you so lacking in pride that—" "It depends entirely on how you spell the word, principal or with a ple. I am entirely devoid of the one ending in pal, and I don't see what pride has to do with it anyway. Ask Anne. She can tell you all that is necessary to know about the Tresslyn pride." "Shut up!" said Anne languidly. "It's just this way, mother," said George, sitting up, with a frown.
I must have gowns. It isn't quite the same as George's I.O.U. to Percy, you know." "Don't be selfish, Anne," cried George, jerking a chair up to the escritoire and scrambling among the papers for a pen. "You won't have to worry long. You'll soon be so rich that the dressmakers won't dare to send you a bill." "Wait a moment, George," said Mrs. Tresslyn abruptly.
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