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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

He spoke with palpable eagerness
before even unbuttoning his damp great-coat, or putting
off his hat. "I mean it's all in working order ready for use?"
"Why yes, uncle," Julia answered, after a moment's thought.
"Is someone coming?"
"I think so," he replied, with a grunt of relief.
He seemed increasingly pleased with the project he
had in mind, as she helped him off with his things.
The smile he gave her, when she playfully took his arm
to lead him into the adjoining library, was clearly but a
part of the satisfied grin with which he was considering
some development in his own affairs.
He got into his slippers and into the easy-chair before
the bright fire and lit a cigar with a contented air.
"Well, my little girl?" he said, with genial inconsequence,
and smiled again at her, where she stood beside the mantel.
"It will be such a lark to play the hostess to a stranger!"
she exclaimed. "When is he coming?--I suppose it is a
'he,'" she added, less buoyantly.
"Oh--that fellow," Thorpe said, as if he had been thinking
of something else. "Well--I can't tell just when he will
turn up. I only learned he was in town--or in England--a
couple of hours ago. I haven't seen him yet at all.
I drove round to his lodgings, near the British Museum,
but he wasn't there. He only comes there to sleep,
but they told me he turned in early--by nine o'clock or so.


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