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Updated: May 29, 2025
Rosalind's urgent invitation to come and hear our president preach, had brought Celia, and it was, of course, for old friendship's sake that Miss Betty was there. "Isn't that Mrs. Whittredge?" she whispered to Celia, as Allan with his mother and Rosalind passed up the aisle. "I don't know when she has been at church before." Then at sight of Mrs. Molesworth Miss Betty gave a slight shrug.
I have read a "Reply" of his to Edwards on the Will, in which the subject was ably discussed, but without the needful logical coherence, perhaps, to make its mark in the debate. The conversations of West with his friend, Dr. Whittredge, as the latter told me, ran constantly into theological questions, upon which they differed.
"Do you think it is polite to interrupt?" asked Mrs. Whittredge. "I beg your pardon, Uncle Allan, I was just thinking. I did not mean to say it out loud," Rosalind explained, in great contrition. "Evidently you were not interested in my learned discourse," he said, with a terrible frown, which was not at all alarming.
Association with those light-hearted children had brought back something of her old hopefulness. That a chance meeting with Allan Whittredge could change all this, humiliated her. "You haven't any pride, Celia Fair. It was your own doing." "I had to do it; it was forced on me." "And a fortunate thing it was. Do you suppose he would care now?
She had been only a child when Patterson Whittredge left home, but she could remember how warmly her father had taken his side, and how this had caused the first coolness between him and his boyhood friend, Judge Whittredge. The judge was influenced by his wife, and between the stubborn doctor and imperious Mrs. Whittredge there had been no love lost.
Genevieve had expostulated, insisting she would be impossible, a child with no bringing up. Rosalind had come, and even Genevieve had to admit, so far as manners and appearance were concerned, she was not impossible. In the fair young face, with its serious eyes, in whose glance there was often a singular radiance, Mrs. Whittredge found something that touched her heart.
It was my mistake." She paused. "And my father died, crushed by the knowledge that he was unjustly blamed for the death of his friend! The discovery of your mistake comes too late." Celia's voice was tense with the stored up pain of those two years. Mrs. Whittredge drew back. "You are hard," she said. "We look at things from different standpoints.
Roberts asked, as her visitor paused for breath. "I doubt if it ever comes to light. It is nearly three years now since it disappeared," was the reply. Miss Betty looked up at the vines above her head, and her lips curled into a sort of half smile. "I should like to hear Cousin Ellen Whittredge on the will," she added.
It was Allan Whittredge who spoke, standing in the door. "He was there a moment ago," Celia answered, rising. "May I wait for him here? You agreed we were not to be enemies; can't we go a step farther, and be friends?" Celia found no reply to this, but she sat dawn again. Allan took the arm-chair and faced her.
Before she had reached the head of the stairs her grandmother's voice called her hack. Reluctantly she returned. Mrs. Whittredge had risen and now came to meet her and put her arm around her, and her voice was soft and full of affection as she asked, "Do you want to go to the cemetery with me this afternoon, pet? Aunt Genevieve has the carriage, and I think a walk will do me good."
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