"
Mr. Whitesides bowed, and was glad when the outer air was blowing
off him the odor of this vulgar incident. "For," said he to
himself, "there are some manners so bad that they have a distinct
bad smell. He is 'the limit!' The little Severence must be
infernally hard-pressed to think of taking him on. Poor child!
She's devilish interesting. A really handsome bit, and smart, too
--excellent ideas about dress. Yet somehow she's been marooned,
overlooked, while far worse have been married well. Strange, that
sort of thing. Somewhat my own case. I ought to have been able to
get some girl with a bunch, yet I somehow always just failed to
connect--until I got beyond the marrying age. Devilish lucky for
me, too. I'm no end better off." And Mr. Whitesides, sitting
correctly upon Madam Bowlder's gray silk cushions, reflected
complacently upon his ample salary, his carefully built-up and
most lucrative commissions, his prospects for a "smashing-good
legacy when her majesty deigns to pass away."
At four Madam Bowker, angry yet compelled to a certain respect,
heard with satisfaction that Craig had come. "Leave me,
Whitesides," said she. "I wish to be quite alone with him
throughout.
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