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Updated: June 15, 2025
He had a plan of his own for the following evening and another meal at Mrs. Wyeth's was not a part of it. "Er er excuse me, ma'am," he cut in hastily, "but I had a a kind of notion that Mary-'Gusta and me might get our supper at a a eatin'-house or somewhere tomorrow night and then maybe we'd take in I mean go to a show a theater, I should say.
By that time I shall have made up my mind and may have something to say which will be worth while. Can you come in Thursday afternoon at two? And will you? Very well. Oh, don't thank me! I haven't done anything yet. Perhaps I shall not be able to, but we shall hope for the best." Mary went straight to Mrs. Wyeth's home on Pinckney Street and once more occupied her pleasant room on the third floor.
Thompson-Bellaire, who was bowing effusively to a newcomer. "My word! What is Bob Wharton doing here?" exclaimed the widow. "Bob Wharton? Where?" Miss Wyeth's languor vanished electrically; she wrenched her attention from the wire-haired fraternity man at her side. Lorelei felt a sense of great thanksgiving. Mrs.
Wyeth's. In her letters she had endeavored to tell every possible item of news which might be interesting to her uncles, but now these items were one by one recalled, reviewed, and discussed. "'Twas kind of funny, that young Smith feller's turnin' up for dinner that time," observed Mr. Hamilton. "Cal'late you was some surprised to see him, wan't you?" Mary smiled.
His ear caught the unusual note in her voice, and he was at once concerned with this rather than with her question. "Why, what is it, Nance what if I was? Are you seeing another Gratcher?" "Bernal, quick, now please! Don't worry me needlessly! Were you at Mrs. Wyeth's to-day?" Her eyes searched his face. She saw that he was still either puzzled or confused, but this time he answered plainly,
They seemed to understand perfectly what had happened, to echo Wyeth's high-pitched, friendly drawl, with an added touch of mockery that was all their own "Oh Linford!" It was toward six o'clock when she ascended the steps of the rectory. Bernal, coming from the opposite direction, met her at the door.
Wyeth's, Mary," he said, "I have always intended to be a doctor. Dad did not want me to be; he wanted me to come in with him, but I wouldn't do it. I love my work and I mean to stick to it and go on with it. If I were as rich as a dozen Rockefellers it wouldn't make any difference. But, as I see it, I am not rich. It is a grave question in my mind how much of that money out there belongs to me."
The parties were fast advancing to that happy state which would have insured ample cause for the next day's repentance; and the bees were already beginning to buzz about their ears, when a messenger came spurring to the camp with intelligence that Wyeth's people had got entangled in one of those deep and frightful ravines, piled with immense fragments of volcanic rock, which gash the whole country about the head-waters of the Blackfoot River.
The self-possessed young woman who stood before him looked no more out of place and impossible in Mrs. Wyeth's dignified and aristocratic parlor than she had in the store where he had last seen her. Her gown was simple and inexpensive but it was stylish and becoming. And her manner well, her manner was distinctly more at ease than his at that moment.
Then her ears seemed to catch the sound of voices on the floor below and she remained motionless for a second, listening. She had no desire to encounter for the second time the torrent of Mrs. Wyeth's manner, no wish to meet unnecessarily one so disagreeably gifted in the art of arousing in her an aversion of which she was half ashamed.
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