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Updated: May 1, 2025
It's sort o' comfortin' to have comp'ny," and she stayed in the ward, sharing with less fortunate ones the fruit and flowers Vandervelde had sent to her. Once the gripping fear that had obsessed her had been dispelled, once she was sure of a protecting kindness that might be relied upon, she proved a gay little body. As the blonde person said, Gracie wasn't a bad sort at all.
"Well, the hour is fixed. It will not be changed?" "No, the Prince preferred the early morning, but Michelin has an appointment he must keep with Vandervelde at noon." "Nothing will persuade him to alter it then?" she insisted. "Nothing." "That is well," she said sighing. "Good-bye, M'sieur Gontrand. You you will do your best for Camille." "You may rely on me," he answered.
"If I was rich but I am not. Who is the happy man?" "That stout grey-haired American who left half an hour since. Did you notice him? He is Vandervelde, the great millionaire art collector." "May one ask the price?" "Eight thousand francs," answered Camille. He looked tired, but his blue eyes were very bright. "I am glad, and yet I shall be sorry to part with it."
Very nice man, Vandervelde. Kind as he could be, too! One liked and trusted him. Clever of him to have so instantly understood just what Peter most craved! "I quite agree with you," said Peter. "I'll start to-night." Vandervelde leaned back in his chair. His heart thumped. He drew a deep breath, the corners of his mouth curling noticeably, and beamed at Peter Champneys through his glasses.
Jason Vandervelde appeared at half after ten o'clock every morning during his client's convalescence, was immediately admitted to Mr. Champney's room, and left it upon the stroke of eleven. Nancy watched this man curiously. When he met her in the hall, he spoke to her in a nice, full-toned, modulated voice, exceedingly pleasing to the ear.
Vandervelde, who had been watching him intently, sighed imperceptibly. "I wasn't mistaken, then," she thought, and smiled to herself. She could have hugged Anne Champneys for her beautifully unconscious manner.
"I been treated bad enough alive without bein' cut up when I'm dead," said she, interrupting him. "I get to thinkin' about it, wakin' up here in the night. He said his folks'd help me if I asked 'em." "Of course, of course! Certainly we'll help!" said Vandervelde hastily. "If I had any money saved up, 't wouldn't be so bad. But I ain't. We never do. I I been sick a long time.
She was considered beautiful and clever, and the glamour of much money added to the impression she created; but she was also considered cold, inaccessible, and perhaps, as the Italian had said, without a heart. She became, as Marcia had laughingly predicted, a legend in her own lifetime. Jason Vandervelde watched her speculatively.
He asked Vandervelde a few perfunctory questions, and learned that things were very much all right. He signed certain papers presented to him. Then he asked abruptly if Mrs. Champneys had been as liberally provided for as she should have been, and learned that Mrs. Champneys had flatly refused to accept a penny more than the actual amount given her by Chadwick Champneys's will.
Champneys wanted and his ward probably needed. Mrs. MacGregor never really liked anybody, but she could respect certain persons highly; she respected Mr. Chadwick Champneys at sight. His name, his appearance, the fact that Jason Vandervelde was acting for him, convinced her that he was "quite the right sort" for an American. She was as gracious to him as nature permitted her to be to anybody.
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