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"Miss Rosemary's rubies and gold " he said finally. "But I believe you're honest, I believe you're a good man." James Haxall explained this to Rosemary. Elim, standing aside, could see that the girl neither assented nor raised objection. She seemed utterly listless; a fleet emotion at the knowledge of her father's death had, in that public place, been immediately repressed.
The brown velvet dress lay on Rosemary's bed where she had spread it, the better to admire its charms. It was a new frock and so far she had worn it only twice. Simply made, with a square neck and a touch of ivory colored lace in the form of a vestee and at the bottom of the sleeves, it was the most becoming dress Rosemary had ever had. She knew it, too.
"Maybe I've missed it and maybe I ain't," she said, huskily. "Maybe this life is only a discipline to fit us for somethin' better that's comin'. Anyway, if we keep on goin' and doin' the best we can as we go, I believe God will make it right for us later on." The morning of Rosemary's wedding dawned clear and cool. It was Autumn and yet the sweetness of Summer still lingered in the air.
Five minutes later, he was reading of a delicious jewel robbery, which had happened in a tunnel near Nice, and had forgotten all about Rosemary's existence. The little girl had an idea that she ought to go to the place where ships came in, and as she had more than once walked to the port with her mother, she knew the way very well.
It was not until he had almost reached the steps that she had noticed that he was wearing a foreign uniform and even then she had promptly placed him as one of Rosemary's innumerable conquests, bestowing on him a friendly and inquiring smile. "Were you looking for Miss Langdon?"
"Why not?" "Because, even if you weren't good to me, I'd know you never meant it." Rosemary's eyes were grave and sweet; eloquent, as they were, of her perfect trust in him. He laughed again. "I'd be a brute not to be good to you, whether I meant it or not." "That sounds twisted," she commented, with a smile. "But it isn't, as long as you know what I mean."
Uncle Somerville lets us dodge the Rosemary's cook whenever we can," was the answer; and with this bit of information Adams went his way to the Denver sleeper. Finding Winton in his section, poring over a blue-print map and making notes thereon after the manner of a man hard at work, Adams turned back to the smoking-compartment. Now for Mr.
The sea had not given up Rosemary's lover; and Norman Douglas, then a handsome, red-haired young giant, noted for wild driving and noisy though harmless escapades, had quarrelled with Ellen and left her in a fit of pique.
"It was a purely personal affair. Moreover, he will not challenge me." "He has fought three duels," she said. "He is not a physical coward." Her dark eyes were full of dread. I hesitated. "Would you be vitally interested in the outcome of such an affair?" I asked. My voice was strangely husky. "Oh, how can you ask?" "I mean, on Rosemary's account," I stammered. "He he is her father, you see.
Her name's Mis' Lee. She come a week ago and last Saturday she was to the post-office, and up the river-road all the afternoon in that old phaeton with young Marsh." Rosemary's heart paused for a moment, then resumed its beat. "She's a play-actin' person, he says, or at any rate she looks like one, which amounts to the same thing.
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