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Updated: June 15, 2025
"When, then, will you tell them?" she said shortly. "I think I will not tell them at all. I will wait, till " "Till Christian does it?" "Yes." "When will that be?" "I do not know. It may be a great while. Why should I tell them before, Miss Cardigan?" "For many reasons, as they seem to my mind, Daisy; and I thought, as they would seem to yours.
Just as they entered the house, the telephone in the hall tinkled, and Bryce answered. "Mr. Cardigan," came Shirley Sumner's voice over the wire. "Bryce," he corrected her. She ignored the correction, "I I don't know what to say to you," she faltered. "There is no necessity for saying anything, Shirley."
"It's only a slight flesh-wound, but that is no fault of your allies. Good- night." And he left her standing, pale of face and trembling, in the white glare of the headlight. Shirley made no effort to detain Bryce Cardigan as he walked to his car and climbed into it.
A stir went through the crowd; and some one called out, "Go it, Old Reliable. Have you had any hoops put around her lately?" Mr. Kincaid grinned good-naturedly, but made no reply. He had discarded his coat; and now wore a brown cardigan jacket. He took his place with the greatest deliberation, consuming twice as much time as any one else. "Ready," said he.
And so Miss Cardigan found me. She half lifted half drew me up, I remember; made me lie down again on the sofa, gave me some hot tea to drink; and when she had made me drink it, she sat still looking at me, silent, and I thought a good deal disturbed. It would be difficult to tell why I thought so. Perhaps it was because she said nothing. I lay quiet with my face hid in my hands.
"From what Bryce Cardigan told me once, his father attaches a sentimental value to that strip of woods; his wife is buried there; it's or rather, it used to be a sort of shrine to the old gentleman." "He's selling it because he's desperate. If he wasn't teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, he'd never let me outgame him," Pennington replied gayly.
I don't know what Miss Cardigan saw; but several times in the evening I heard her sigh; a thing very unusual and notable with her. Again and again I heard it, a soft long breath. I gave it no heed at the time. My eyes and thoughts were fixed on the other member of the party; and I was like one in a dream.
Miss Cardigan was not at home, the servant said, but she would be in presently. I was just as well pleased. I took off my cap, and carrying it in my hand I went back through the rooms to the greenhouse. All still and fresh and sweet, it seemed more delightful than ever, because I knew there was nobody near. Some new flowers were out.
He was not thinking of himself, that was plain; and the homely, expressive features got a place in my heart from that time. The little cavalcade passed on from us; the crowd melted away, and Miss Cardigan and I came slowly again up Fifth Avenue. "Yon's a mon!" quoth Miss Cardigan, speaking as she did in moments of strong feeling, with a little reminder of her Scottish origin.
Cardigan, lifted unexpectedly out of the slough of despond by the very man whom he expected to condemn him, became from that moment, in the face of the mental reaction, almost hypersympathetic. When finally he left the room, Kent was inwardly rejoicing. For Cardigan had told him it would be some time before he was strong enough to stand on his feet. He did not see Mercer all the rest of that day.
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