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He had never seen his cousin in just this mood, and could not tell whether she were mocking him or warning him. "Who is Mrs. Rangely?" he asked. "A medium?" "Oh, bless you, no. She is not so bad as a medium; she is only a New Yorker. Do you think we'd go to real mediums? Although," she added, "there are plenty who do go. I think that it is shocking bad form." "But you speak as if"
Fred and I suit each other perfectly, and are sufficiently fond of each other; but there are sides of his nature to which I do not answer, and of mine that he does not touch. He finds somebody who does; I find somebody on my part. You, for instance." Rangely leaned back in his chair, and clasped his plump white fingers, regarding Mrs. Staggchase with a smile of amusement and admiration.
The German tried to bring the conversation back to serious levels, but in vain. "Oh, what fustian we've given ourselves up to to-night," laughed Rangely. "It amuses me to hear you fellows discuss religion," Tom Bently observed. "You wander round the subject as aimlessly as the young women in the first half hour of a Harvard symphony concert." "Never you mind, Bently," rejoined Ainsworth.
Greyson, and it chanced that Grant Herman and Fred Rangely were also there. The sculptor went seldom to the house of his pupil, and when he did visit her, he satisfied some fine, secret delicacy by taking always a friend with him. Helen was sufficiently Bohemian or sufficiently unworldly to care little if people criticised her way of living.
Fred Rangely came upon the clergyman at a moment when he had detached himself from the admiring women who usually surrounded him, and taken refuge in the shadow of a deep window. "Good-evening, Mr. Strathmore," Rangely said. "Are you making a retreat? I thought Lent was the time for that." The other smiled with that kindly benevolence which was characteristic. "Ah, Mr.
Rangely laughed, a trifle uneasily. "I don't want to," he replied, "if you will be good natured." "Good natured? I like that! I am always good natured. You had better go than to stay and abuse me. But then, as you have been at Mrs. Staggchase's all the afternoon, you ought to be pretty well talked out." The young man turned toward her with an air of mingled surprise and impatience.
Crewe thought it obviously useless to continue this conversation. "The railroad," said the baron, "he is the modern Machiavelli." "I say," Mr. Rangely, the Englishman, remarked to Victoria, "this is a bit rough on you, you know." "Oh, I'm used to it," she laughed. "Mr. Crewe," said Mrs. Pomfret, to the table at large, "deserves tremendous credit for the fight he has made, almost single-handed.
"I was out of town with Staggchase yesterday, looking at some meadows we talk of buying for a factory site, and I was surprised to see how forward things are." Yesterday Mrs. Staggchase had casually mentioned to Fred Rangely that her husband had gone to Feltonville; and at the St. Filipe Club in the evening, as they were playing poker, Rangely had excused the absence of Mr.
Rangely, who had been a deeply interested spectator to this scene. "A little way down the street, on the other side, Dr. Tredway lives. You will see his sign." "And if he isn't in, go to the hospital. It's only a few doors farther on." "I'll wait," said Victoria, simply, when he had gone; "my father will wish to know about Mr. Vane."
"The piano is harder than my heart if they haven't!" She gave a sly twitch at a hairpin. "That is very pretty," observed she, giving her head a shake that brought her hair down in a rolling billow. "Oh, dear! Now my hair has" Before she could finish he had dropped her fingers, and gathered her hair in both hands, kissing it again and again. "Mr. Rangely!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean?"
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