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Updated: June 24, 2025
"What do you think, Dorinda?" I interrupted. Dorinda stirred her tea. "Think?" she repeated. "I think . . . When's that Colton girl comin' to call on Comfort again?" I had taken my hat from the hook. Now, with it in my hand, I turned and faced her. "How should I know that?" I demanded. "That's a trifle off the subject, isn't it?" "Um-hm," said Dorinda. "Maybe 'tis." I went out hurriedly.
You never used to care for the town or anybody in it. Lately you've changed. Changed in a good many ways. Is somethin' besides this Lane affair frettin' you? Is somebody frettin' you? Are you worried about that one?" She had caught me unawares. I felt the blood tingle in my cheeks. I tried to laugh and made a failure of the attempt. "That one?" I repeated. "I Why, I don't understand, Dorinda."
She held a hand-screen betwixt her face and the fire, but the flush which touched its usual sallowness was not caused by heat. A wedding was a diversion of her exile which Lady Dorinda had never hoped for. There had been some mating in the fort below among soldiers and peasant women, to which she did not lower her thoughts.
She disappeared. A moment later the door opened wide and Colton entered. The sudden transition from sunlight to semidarkness bewildered him for a moment, doubtless, for he stood there without speaking. Dorinda, who had ushered him in, went out and closed the door. I stepped forward. "Good morning, Mr. Colton," I said, as calmly as I could. "You have never met my mother, I think.
However, he handed it over and I left him seated on the wash bench, with his head tipped back against the shingles. I opened the gate and strolled slowly along the path by the edge of the bluff. I had gone perhaps a hundred yards when I heard a shrill voice behind me. Turning, I saw Dorinda standing by the corner of the kitchen, dust cloth in hand. Her husband was raking for dear life.
I want you to lend Jean the money for music lessons; she will pay you back when she gets far enough along to give lessons herself. And I want you to lend me the money to shingle our house and get Mother a new dress and fur coat for the winter. I'll pay you back sometime for that, because I am going to set up as a dressmaker pretty soon." "Anything more?" said Uncle Eugene, when Dorinda stopped.
Ros Paine, I'm goin' to drive you out of Denboro." He turned on his heel, strode to the door, went out, and slammed it behind him. I went back to the dining-room. Lute was nowhere in sight, but Dorinda was standing by the mantel, dusting, as usual, where there was no dust. I did not speak but walked toward the door leading to the stairs. Dorinda stepped in front of me.
Dorinda noticed the result when I came down to breakfast. "Got your other suit on, ain't you," she observed. "Yes," said I. "Goin' anywheres special?" "No. Down to the boathouse, that's all." "Humph! I don't see what you put those blue pants on for. They're awful things to show water spots. Did you leave your brown ones upstairs? Um-hm. Well, I'll get at 'em some time to-day.
These peculiarities may be illustrated in a passage which opens with a reminiscence of Spenser: Again the opening situation recalls that of Hymen's Triumph, a resemblance rendered all the more striking by the retention of the actual names, Silvia and Thirsis. In like manner the name and character of Dorinda are taken from the Pastor fido.
My answer was prompt and sharp enough this time. It was natural, perhaps, that he should presume Dorinda to be my mother, but I did not like it. He paid absolutely no attention to the tone of my reply or its curtness. He did not refer to Dorinda again. She might have been my wife or my great-aunt for all he cared. "This your workshop?" he asked, abruptly.
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