She was
really intending to marry him. Grant shuddered. "If she only
realized what marrying a man of that sort means!" he exclaimed,
half aloud. "But she doesn't. Only a woman who has been married
can appreciate what sort of a hell for sensitive nerves and
refined tastes marriage can be made."
"Ah--Mr. Arkwright!"
At this interruption in a woman's voice--the voice he disliked and
dreaded above all others--he startled and turned to face old Madam
Bowker in rustling black silk, with haughty casque of gray-white
hair and ebon staff carried firmly, well forward. Grant bowed.
"How d'ye do, Mrs. Bowker?" said he with respectful deference.
What he would have thought was the impossible had come to pass. He
was glad to see her. "She'll put an end to this nonsense--this
nightmare," said he to himself.
Madam Bowker had Williams, the butler, and a maid-servant in her
train. She halted, gazed round the room; she pointed with the
staff to the floor a few feet from the window and a little back.
"Place my chair there," commanded she.
The butler and the maid hastened to move a large carved and gilded
chair to the indicated spot. Madam Bowker seated herself with much
ceremony.
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