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Updated: June 13, 2025
Betty, watching Truedale's exasperated face, came to his assistance. "When at a party you're asked whether you will have tea or coffee, Dr. McPherson," she said, tugging at his huge arm, "you mustn't say 'chocolate, it isn't polite. If Con wants to mix up the sexes he has a perfect right to, after he's ruined himself buying this box. Do sit down beside me, doctor.
The shabby, radiant little creature with her tremendous problem yet to solve. Through the act she rose higher, clearer; she won sympathy, she revealed herself; and, at the end, she faced her audience with an appeal that was successful to the last degree. In short, she had got Truedale's play over the footlights! He knew it; every one knew it.
She looked at him like a child trying to understand his mood. "Oh!" she said presently, "I 'most forgot. The minister has gone to a burying back in the hills; he'll be gone a right long time. Bill Trim, who carries all the news, told me to-day." "Where is he, Nella-Rose?" Something seemed tightening around Truedale's heart. "Us-all don't know; he left it written on his door."
As once he had been an unknown quantity, so he remained; but the work went on, supervised by Jim White, who used with sagacity and cleverness the power placed in his hands. Truedale's own particular interests were nearly all educational. Even here, he held himself in reserve placed in more competent hands the power they could wield better than he.
Truedale's play was pushed across the table and the angel-woman seized upon it. The taste Camden had given her like caviar sharpened her appetite. She read on in the swift, skipping fashion that would have crushed an author's hopes, but which grasped the high lights and caught the deep tones. Then the woman looked up and there were genuine tears in her eyes.
After much argument and the heat was terrific the great man promised, in order to rid himself of Truedale's presence, to read the stuff. He hadn't the slightest intention of doing so, and meant to start it on its downward way back to the author as soon as the proper person in short his private secretary came home from his vacation.
He gave an exclamation of delight when later they entered the dining room, which had never been furnished in the past; like much of the house it had been a sad tribute to the emptiness and disappointment that had overcome William Truedale's life. Now it shone with beauty and cheer.
There were several things that had to be dealt with besides the condition arising from the locking of the door of William Truedale's room. Conning battled with this fact nearly all night, little realizing that Lynda was feeling her way to the same conclusion in the quiet room below. "I'm not beaten, Uncle William," she whispered, kneeling beside the bed.
William Truedale lived on a shabby-genteel side street of a neighbourhood that had started out to be fashionable but had been defeated in its ambitions. It had never lost character, but it certainly had lost lustre. The houses themselves were well built and sternly correct. William Truedale's was the best in the block and it stood with a vacant lot on either side of it.
"And now will you be kind enough to tell me what you mean by wearing my clothes?" Still the silence and the blank stare. "You must answer my questions!" Truedale's voice sounded stern. "I suppose you didn't expect me back so soon?" The deep eyes confirmed this by the drooping of the lids. "And you broke in what for?" No answer. "Who are you?"
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