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Updated: June 9, 2025
Vendenning, and that charming widow's success at last year's horse show and whether the fashion of the function was reviving, and whether Beverly Plank had completely broken into the social sets he had besieged so long, or whether a few of the hunting and shooting people merely permitted him to drive pheasants for them, and why Katharyn Tassel made eyes at him, having sufficient money of her own to die unwed, and and and then, at last, as the big motor car swung in a circle at Wenniston Cross-Roads, and poked its brass and lacquer muzzle toward Shotover, the talk swung back to Siward once more having travelled half the world over to find him.
Vendenning has bought a third-rate castle in Wales; a man was found dead with a copy of the Tribune in his pocket the verdict being in accordance with fact; the Panama Canal " But it was over at last; a flurry of sweeping skirts; ranks of black and white in escort to the passage of the fluttering silken procession. "Good-bye," she said; "I am not staying for the dance."
But she strolled up to him, meeting his eye calmly, and lifted her slim neck, lips passive under his impetuous kiss. "Is Mrs. Vendenning out?" he asked, laying his hands on the bare shoulders of the tall, pallid girl tall as he, and as pallid. "No, Mrs. Ven. is in, Howard." "Now? You mean she is coming in to interrupt " "Oh no; she isn't fond of you, Howard."
Tom O'Hara had gone back to Lenox; Mrs. Vendenning to Hot Springs. Beverly Plank, master of Black Fells, began to pervade the house after a tentative appearance; and he and Major Belwether pottered about the coverts, usually after luncheon the latter doing little damage with his fowling-piece, and nobody knew how much with his gossiping tongue.
"Oh, yes." "Yes." "Rena Bonnesdel, the Tassel girl, Agatha Caithness, Mrs. Vendenning all sorts, all sets." And, with an effort: "If I'm to drive, I should like to to know what time it is?" He informed her; and she, too indolent to pretend surprise, and finding reproach easier, told him that he had no business to permit her to forget.
"Well?" inquired Mrs. Vendenning, looking up at the tall, pale girl she was chaperoning so carefully during their sojourn in town. "Oh, you know the rhyme to that," yawned Agatha; "let's ring up somebody. I'm bored stiff." "What did Howard Quarrier want?" "He knows, I think, but he hasn't yet informed me." "I'll tell you one thing, Agatha," said Mrs.
"Oh, I can stand their opinions," he said; "I only meet the yellow sort occasionally; I don't herd with them." "I do, thank you." "How do you like them? What is your opinion of the yellow set? Here they sit all about you the Phoenix Mottlys, Mrs. Delmour-Carnes yonder, the Draymores, the Orchils, the Vendenning lady, the Lawns of Westlawn " he paused, then deliberately "and the 'Jack' Ruthvens.
Siward spoke pleasantly to them all. Vendenning whom he did not know, and finally his hostess Grace Ferrall with her piquant, almost boyish, freckled face and sweet frank eyes and the figure of an adolescent. She gave Siward one pretty sun-browned hand and laid the other above his, holding it a moment in her light clasp. "Stephen!
Vendenning was laughing; so was Rena Bonnesdel looking over Quarrier's shoulder at a card he was holding not one of the "hand"-decorated, but a sheet of note-paper containing a drawing of a man rushing after a gun-shy dog.
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