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Updated: June 15, 2025
She had no great fancy for a solitary Christmas dinner, such as her husband's rural tastes had so often condemned her to; besides, this new arrangement would give her an opportunity to take a look at Miss Clytie Summers, of whom she had heard things. Medora received Edith Whyland with some empressement; she regarded her guest as the model of all that the young urban matron should be. Mrs.
Palmer Pence, doubtless, was here under protest; but this man, his superior in age, credit and renown, had apparently come of his own free will. He sat there staring at the smiling progress of the Rev. William S. Gowdy through the throng of jubilant students. He felt stunned, dislocated. It was all too much. "Well, well," he heard Mrs. Whyland say.
And when, later on, Leverett Whyland became less the "good citizen" and more the "plutocrat" a course perhaps inevitable under certain circumstances he would sometimes smile over those unsuccessful advances and would ask himself to what extent the discouraging unfaith of our Abner might be responsible for his choice and his fall. Though Mrs.
He was not the author of this ruthless masculine paradox. He had refused as considerately as he could an offer from Whyland himself to do literary work. The Pence-Whyland syndicate had lately secured control of one of the daily newspapers, and Whyland had suggested semi-weekly articles at Abner's own figure.
Take any good salesman who has been out of the harness for awhile and when he gets back again to work there's more enjoyment in selling a bill of goods than in drinking a bottle of champagne. I swore to myself that I wouldn't buy a cent's worth, but before I got away from Whyland I was down for $13,000 worth of goods." "Whew! It was a dear visit." "Not at all.
But a few of his own intimates detained him at the door, and presently Whyland, who had ended his remarks and was on his way to other matters, overtook him. An officious bystander made the two acquainted, and Whyland, who identified Abner with the author of This Weary World, paused for a few smiling and good-humoured remarks. "Glad to see you here," he said, with a kind of bright buoyancy.
His cordiality overflowed at once; he asked Abner to remain to dinner. Abner had not looked for this; a mere call was as far as he had meant to go. He parried, he evaded, he shuffled toward the door. "But where's your overcoat?" asked Whyland, looking about. "I didn't wear one." "On such a day as this!" exclaimed Edith. "I am strong," said Abner. "You'll find our winter stronger," said Whyland.
Whyland more considerately. She means to arrange quite a nice little programme, and it will be no disadvantage to you to take part in it. Mr. Bond will read one or two of his travel-sketches, and I may do a little something myself a bit in the way of music, perhaps." "H'm," said Abner. "Travel-sketches?" He ignored the promise of music. "With folk-songs on the violin."
Medora had suggested their presence to her mother, and Clytie had supported the suggestion: "the more the merrier," she declared. Whyland himself had jumped at the opportunity eagerly, and his wife, who had met Medora a number of times at the studio and in Paris and liked her, acquiesced after the due interposition of a few objections. "About the children " she began.
A great many of the gentlemen go in simple evening dress." Abner shook his head a third time. "I thought you understood my principles on that point. Dress is a badge, an index. I could not openly brand myself as having surrendered to the to the " Medora sighed. "You are making a great many difficulties," she said. "But you will call on Mrs. Whyland?"
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