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Bentley's face. "What can I do?" he demanded. The question was not aimed directly at his host it was in the nature of a renewed appeal to a tribunal which had been mute, but with which he now seemed vaguely aware of a certain contact. "Even supposing I could bring myself to accept the compromise now that I see it clearly, that the end justifies the means what good could I accomplish?
Henceforth I resign you to the guardianship and protection of one of my most intimate and valued friends, Mr. Ainsworth, with whom, and with you, my best wishes and warmest feelings will ever remain. I reap no gain or profit by parting from you, nor will any conveyance of your property be required, for, in this respect, you have always been literally 'Bentley's' Miscellany, and never mine.
'Well, then, said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, 'what do you intend to do? The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question. 'I don't intend to do anything, she replied. 'I shall look for some sittings tomorrow. 'Who shall you go to? asked Birkin. 'I shall go to Bentley's first. But I believe he's angwy with me for running away. 'That is from the Madonna? 'Yes.
Bentley's verdict was that, while the wrist was not in a condition that need bother men much in ordinary callings, yet, as a pitcher's wrist, it would need rest and care. "I've just got the tip that I'm to pitch in the Chichester game," said Dave, coming to his chum that afternoon.
At the end of it Kate Marcy came out of her room, crossed the street, and knocked at the door of Mr. Bentley's library. Hodder happened to be there. "Come in," Mr. Bentley said. She entered, breathless, pale. Her eyes, which had already lost much of the dissipated look, were alight with exaltation.
Bentley's request, asking grace, the old darky with reverently bent head standing behind his master; sitting down at a mahogany table that reflected like a mirror the few pieces of old silver, to a supper of beaten biscuits that burned one's fingers, of 'broiled chicken and coffee, and sliced peaches and cream. Mr.
Although there had indeed been bitterness in his soul, it passed away in the atmosphere of Mr. Bentley's house. The process now taking place in him was the same complication of negative and positive currents he had felt in her presence before.
"It strikes me," he said, "as the supreme one." They came at length to Mr. Bentley's door, flung open in its usual wide hospitality by Sam. Whatever theist fortunes, they would always be welcome here . . . . But it turned out, in answer to their question, that their friend was not at home.
This young gentleman, whose mental processes were not rapid, and who habitually overworked any idea that found lodgment in his mind, was disposed to dwell upon River Bend Park and Miss Bentley's strange mistake in thinking she had seen him there, when actually, don't you know, he was on his way to New York.
"You already have other company," murmured Hibbert apologetically. "No; most decidedly we must not intrude on you." "How do you do, Mr. Colquitt?" was Dr. Bentley's greeting. Then other introductions followed, and, ere he knew it, Hibbert and his friends were members of the party and destined to partake of the barbecue feast. The oldish-looking man with the new arrivals proved to be Mr.
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