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Updated: May 8, 2025
Even Laura wonders how Marcia managed to inspire this regard, and decides that the marriage is not so bad, after all, and she shall never have Marcia to chaperone. Floyd Grandon and his wife are down in the early part of the evening. This is really Mr. Wilmarth's triumph. The greeting is courteous, if formal, and the man has come to him, Jasper Wilmarth.
It may be that Wilmarth's influence is not a good thing for a young man. How has his father been so blinded? "That man is a villain," Connery had said when they left the factory. "It will be war between you, and you had better get him out if it is possible." Floyd sighs now, thinking of all the perplexities. What is Mr. St. Vincent like? Will there be trouble in this direction as well?
In the first place, the half-share is not yours, until the legacies have been paid." "They never can be! I would take Wilmarth's word as soon as yours. There is no use worrying and scrimping and going without everything for the sake of the others." "For shame, Eugene. But fortunately the law has to settle this, not any individual preference. Let us go to Mr. Connery at once."
They turn lingeringly, stare at each other, and march toward Wilmarth's office. Grandon goes straight to the workroom. Half a dozen men are still at their looms. "O Mr. Grandon!" begins Rising, with a face of the utmost anxiety, but Lindmeyer has a half-smile on his lips as he advances, which breaks into an unmirthful laugh. "Quite a strike or an insurrection, with some muttered thunder!
Wilmarth's tailor has made the best of his figure, and he brings out the training of years agone, when he had some ambitions. Society decides that it must have been merely a whim, for the man is certainly well enough, and really adores her.
Eugene should, by right, go over to the factory and answer a pile of letters, but instead, he throws himself on the grass, with an afghan under his head, and falls fast asleep. Violet drowses in her hammock and dreams away the happy hours. Only a little year ago. It runs through her mind like the lapping of the waves in the river. They are a little late in reaching Mrs. Wilmarth's.
He stands and looks, and fantastic ideas float through his brain. The engine-room is satisfactory. Everything is right, except that once or twice he catches a strong whiff of kerosene, which he hates utterly. The men may have been using it for something. He inspects nooks and corners, even looks into Wilmarth's little den.
Polly, Violet, and Eugene visit every house that is even suggested as for sale, and make wonderful plans. Not that Eugene is in the house from "early morn till dewy eve." He develops quite a business capacity, and can follow a strong lead excellently. He is no longer tossed to and fro by Wilmarth's sneers and innuendoes, or bracing himself to fight against what he considers Floyd's inexperience.
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