told me to say she would help to
make your life a happy one if she could."
"It's her told you to come," she replied in quick resentment. "I don't
see what business it is of hers."
Fanny Larimore's strength of determination was not one to hold against
Hosmer's will set to a purpose, during the hour or more that they
talked, he proposing, she finally acquiescing. And when he left her,
it was with a gathering peace in her heart to feel that his nearness
was something that would belong to her again; but differently as he
assured her. And she believed him, knowing that he would stand to his
promise.
Her life was sometimes very blank in the intervals of street
perambulations and matinées and reading of morbid literature. That
elation which she had felt over her marriage with Hosmer ten years
before, had soon died away, together with her weak love for him, when
she began to dread him and defy him. But now that he said he was ready
to take care of her and be good to her, she felt great comfort in her
knowledge of his honesty.
X - Fanny's Friends
*
It was on the day following Hosmer's visit, that Mrs. Lorenzo
Worthington, familiarly known to her friends as Belle Worthington, was
occupied in constructing a careful and extremely elaborate street
toilet before her dressing bureau which stood near the front window of
one of the "flats" opposite Mrs. Larimore's. The Nottingham curtain
screened her effectually from the view of passers-by without hindering
her frequent observance of what transpired in the street.
The lower portion of this lady's figure was draped, or better,
seemingly supported, by an abundance of stiffly starched white
petticoats that rustled audibly at her slightest movement. Her neck
was bare, as were the well shaped arms that for the past five minutes
had been poised in mid-air, in the arrangement of a front of
exquisitely soft blonde curls, which she had taken from her "top
drawer" and was adjusting, with the aid of a multitude of tiny
invisible hair-pins, to her own very smoothly brushed hair. Yellow
hair it was, with a suspicious darkness about the roots, and a
streakiness about the back, that to an observant eye would have more
than hinted that art had assisted nature in coloring Mrs.
Worthington's locks.
Dressed, and evidently waiting with forced patience for the
termination of these overhead maneuvers of her friend, sat Lou,—Mrs.
Jack Dawson,—a woman whom most people called handsome. If she were
handsome, no one could have told why, for her beauty was a thing which
could not be defined. She was tall and thin, with hair, eyes, and
complexion of a brownish neutral tint, and bore in face and figure, a
stamp of defiance which probably accounted for a certain eccentricity
in eschewing hair dyes and cosmetics. Her face was full of little
irregularities; a hardly perceptible cast in one eye; the nose drawn a
bit to one side, and the mouth twitched decidedly to the other when
she talked or laughed. It was this misproportion which gave a piquancy
to her expression and which in charming people, no doubt made them
believe her handsome.
Mrs. Worthington's coiffure being completed, she regaled herself with
a deliberate and comprehensive glance into the street, and the outcome
of her observation was the sudden exclamation.
"Well I'll be switched! come here quick Lou. If there ain't Fanny
Larimore getting on the car with Dave Hosmer!"
Mrs. Dawson approached the window, but without haste; and in no wise
sharing her friend's excitement, gave utterance to her calm opinion.
"They've made it up, I'll bet you what you want."
Surprise seemed for the moment to have deprived Mrs. Worthington of
further ability to proceed with her toilet, for she had fallen into a
chair as limply as her starched condition would permit, her face full
of speculation.
"See here, Belle Worthington, if we've got to be at the 'Lympic at two
o'clock, you'd better be getting a move on yourself."
"Yes, I know; but I declare, you might knock me
make your life a happy one if she could."
"It's her told you to come," she replied in quick resentment. "I don't
see what business it is of hers."
Fanny Larimore's strength of determination was not one to hold against
Hosmer's will set to a purpose, during the hour or more that they
talked, he proposing, she finally acquiescing. And when he left her,
it was with a gathering peace in her heart to feel that his nearness
was something that would belong to her again; but differently as he
assured her. And she believed him, knowing that he would stand to his
promise.
Her life was sometimes very blank in the intervals of street
perambulations and matinées and reading of morbid literature. That
elation which she had felt over her marriage with Hosmer ten years
before, had soon died away, together with her weak love for him, when
she began to dread him and defy him. But now that he said he was ready
to take care of her and be good to her, she felt great comfort in her
knowledge of his honesty.
X - Fanny's Friends
*
It was on the day following Hosmer's visit, that Mrs. Lorenzo
Worthington, familiarly known to her friends as Belle Worthington, was
occupied in constructing a careful and extremely elaborate street
toilet before her dressing bureau which stood near the front window of
one of the "flats" opposite Mrs. Larimore's. The Nottingham curtain
screened her effectually from the view of passers-by without hindering
her frequent observance of what transpired in the street.
The lower portion of this lady's figure was draped, or better,
seemingly supported, by an abundance of stiffly starched white
petticoats that rustled audibly at her slightest movement. Her neck
was bare, as were the well shaped arms that for the past five minutes
had been poised in mid-air, in the arrangement of a front of
exquisitely soft blonde curls, which she had taken from her "top
drawer" and was adjusting, with the aid of a multitude of tiny
invisible hair-pins, to her own very smoothly brushed hair. Yellow
hair it was, with a suspicious darkness about the roots, and a
streakiness about the back, that to an observant eye would have more
than hinted that art had assisted nature in coloring Mrs.
Worthington's locks.
Dressed, and evidently waiting with forced patience for the
termination of these overhead maneuvers of her friend, sat Lou,—Mrs.
Jack Dawson,—a woman whom most people called handsome. If she were
handsome, no one could have told why, for her beauty was a thing which
could not be defined. She was tall and thin, with hair, eyes, and
complexion of a brownish neutral tint, and bore in face and figure, a
stamp of defiance which probably accounted for a certain eccentricity
in eschewing hair dyes and cosmetics. Her face was full of little
irregularities; a hardly perceptible cast in one eye; the nose drawn a
bit to one side, and the mouth twitched decidedly to the other when
she talked or laughed. It was this misproportion which gave a piquancy
to her expression and which in charming people, no doubt made them
believe her handsome.
Mrs. Worthington's coiffure being completed, she regaled herself with
a deliberate and comprehensive glance into the street, and the outcome
of her observation was the sudden exclamation.
"Well I'll be switched! come here quick Lou. If there ain't Fanny
Larimore getting on the car with Dave Hosmer!"
Mrs. Dawson approached the window, but without haste; and in no wise
sharing her friend's excitement, gave utterance to her calm opinion.
"They've made it up, I'll bet you what you want."
Surprise seemed for the moment to have deprived Mrs. Worthington of
further ability to proceed with her toilet, for she had fallen into a
chair as limply as her starched condition would permit, her face full
of speculation.
"See here, Belle Worthington, if we've got to be at the 'Lympic at two
o'clock, you'd better be getting a move on yourself."
"Yes, I know; but I declare, you might knock me
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