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Updated: June 26, 2025
This feeling had reached a climax even before he met the girl this afternoon. Somehow that meeting had served to precipitate his decision. After all, Surface had had both his chance and his warning. That his sonship would make him detestable in Miss Weyland's sight was highly probable, but he could not let the fear of that keep him silent.
For indeed there was no escaping it." Queed said that he had seen it. "You had a good place to see it from, I hope?" Excellent; Miss Weyland's porch. "Ah!" said Nicolovius, with rather an emphasis, and permitted a pause to fall. "A most charming young lady charming," he went on, with his note of velvet irony which the young man peculiarly disliked. "I hear she is to marry your Mr. West.
Everybody thought that the old professor's remark was in bad taste, for it was generally known that Henry G. Surface was one subject that even Miss Weyland's intimate friends never mentioned to her. Nicolovius, however, appeared absolutely unconcerned by the boarders' silent rebuke. He ate on, rapidly but abstemiously, and finished before Mr. Bylash, who had had twenty minutes' start of him.
"I think Fifi will know ... and be glad," said Sharlee. "She liked and admired you. Only day before yesterday she spoke of you. Now she ... has gone, and this is the one way left for any of us to show that we are sorry." Long afterwards, Queed thought that if Charles Weyland's lashes had not glittered with sudden tears at that moment he would have refused her.
The last boarder rising drew shut the folding-doors into the parlor, while the ladies of the house remained to superintend and assist in clearing off the supper things. The last boarder this time was Mr. Bylash, who tried without success to catch Miss Weyland's eye as he slid to the doors.
It was a mild, windless night near the end of February, foreshadowing the early spring already nearly due. He had no umbrella, or wish for one: the cool rain in his face was a refreshment and a vivifier. So the worst had come to the worst, and he had been living for nearly a year on Sharlee Weyland's money, stolen from her by her father's false friend.
Somewhere during the afternoon there had returned to Queed the words in which Sharlee Weyland had pointed out to him quite unnecessarily that he was standing here between two civilizations. On the porch now sat Miss Weyland's grandmother, representative of the dead aristocracy.
On the very night after West made his happy discovery, namely on the evening of February 24, at about twenty minutes of nine, Sharlee Weyland's door-bell rang, and Mr. Queed was shown into her parlor. His advent was a complete surprise to Sharlee. For these nine months, her suggestion that he should call upon her had lain utterly neglected.
One man alone stood by Surface in his downfall, his classmate and friend of his bosom from the cradle, John Randolph Weyland, a good man and a true. Weyland's affection never faltered.
Weyland's house stood full on the line of march. It was the house she had come to as a bride; she owned it; and because it could not easily be converted over her head into negotiable funds, it had escaped the predacious clutches of Henry G. Surface.
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