Always together, playing, studying, reading, riding
and--"
"Everybody used to say old David Windom was doing his best to make
a match of it," interrupted Mrs. Pollock, who had been out of the
conversation longer than she liked. "Up to the time the old man
died, we used to take it for granted that some day they would get
married,--but, my goodness, it's like waving a red flag at a bull
to even mention his name to Alix now. She hates him,--and I guess
he hates her."
"Oh, my dear friend," cried Mr. Mavity, "I really don't think you
ought to say that. Hate is a very dreadful word. I am sure Alix
is incapable of actually hating any one. And as for David, he is
kindness, gentleness itself. It is just one of those unfortunate
situations that cannot be accounted for."
Charlie Webster came up at that juncture.
"Say, Court, why didn't you tell 'em about the time you called
Colonel What's-His-Name down,--the French guy that--" The scowl
on Courtney's brow silenced the genial Charlie. He coughed and
sputtered for a moment or two and then said something about "taking
a joke."
As Charlie moved away, Miss Angie Miller sniffed and said, without
appreciably lowering her voice:
"I wonder where he gets it. There isn't supposed to be a drop in
Windomville." Suddenly her eyes flew wide open. "Furman! Oh, Furman
Hatch!" she called out to a man who was sidling toward the door in
the wake of the pernicious Mr.
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