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Updated: June 3, 2025
It appears that she will plead not guilty." "And what's your belief?" "I can't make up my mind." "In that case, it seems to me, you ought to give her the benefit of the doubt; especially as you seem to have made up your mind pretty clearly about this Mrs. What's-her-name." Waymark was silent, looking at Mr. Woodstock, and reflecting. "What are your intentions with regard to the girl?"
Work was more impossible for me than ever, and I had to feed and clothe myself." "How long ago was that?" asked Waymark, without looking up. "Four months." Ida rose from the beach. The tide had gone down some distance; there were stretches of smooth sand, already dry in the sunshine. "Let us walk back on the sands," she said, pointing. "You are going home?" "Yes, I want to rest a little.
Her interest in Waymark, which had fallen off during the past half-year, all at once revived; she conversed with him as she had been used to do when she first made his acquaintance, and the publication of his book afforded her endless matter for gossip. She began to speak of herself as an old woman, and of spending her last years happily in the country.
"Do you play?" Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon it. "I only wish I could. My landlady's daughter is giving me lessons. But I think I'm getting on. Listen to me do this exercise." She sat down, and, with much conscientious effort, went over some simple bars. Then she looked up at her companion and caught him smiling.
"This is a queer place to live in," observed Waymark, as he looked up at the dark houses. "Don't be afraid," was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the door with a latch-key. They went up two flights of stairs, then entered a room where a bright fire was burning. Waymark's conductor held a piece of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp. It was a small, pleasantly furnished sitting-room.
"Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew, "and explain the scrape she's got into." Waymark did so. "And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?" "Absolutely nothing." "I don't believe you." It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the table.
"The battle's won!" cried O'Gree, with much gesticulation, as soon as Waymark returned. "The campaign's at an end! I'm sorry if I've driven your friend away, but I was bound to tell you." "All right. Let me have a description of the manoeuvres." "Look here, my boy," said O'Gree, with sudden solemnity, "you've never been very willing to talk to me about her.
"It might," he replied, looking away. She sat with her eyes fixed on the ground. She wished to continue, but something stayed her. "I don't much count upon it," Waymark said, when he could no longer endure the silence. "We mustn't base any hopes on that." He rose; the need of changing his attitude seemed imperative. "Must you go?"
Half an hour after he went up the stairs of the lodging-house and knocked at the familiar door. But his knock met with no answer. Ida herself had left home an hour before. Upon waking, and recalling what she had done, she foresaw that Waymark would himself come, in spite of her request. She could not face him.
The late governess had been a mature person of features rather serviceable than handsome; that her successor was of a different type appeared sufficiently from the fair round head, the gracefully handed neck, the perfect shoulders, the slight, beautiful form. Waymark took his place and waited with some curiosity till she moved.
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