Underneath his left
arm he held tightly a shabby little bag and a freshly wrapped up
parcel: in his right hand, held far away from his body, was the
melancholy and picturesque terrier--"Michael."
Mrs. Chichester looked at him in horror.
"Where are you going with those--THINGS?" she gasped.
"To put them in a cab, madam," answered the humiliated footman.
"Your niece's orders."
"Put those articles in a travelling-bag--use one of my, daughter's,"
ordered the old lady.
"Your niece objects, madam. She sez she'll take nothing away she
didn't bring with her."
The grief-stricken woman turned away as Jarvis passed out. Alaric
tried to comfort her. But the strain of the morning had been too
great. Mrs. Chichester burst into tears.
"Don't weep, mater. Please don't. It can't be helped. We've all done
our best. I know _I_ have!" and Alaric put his mother carefully down
on the lounge and sat beside her on the arm. He looked cheerfully at
Jerry and smiled as he said:
"I even offered to marry her if she'd stay. Couldn't do more than
that, could I?"
Hawkes listened intently.
Jerry returned Alaric's smile as he asked: "YOU offered to marry
her?"
Alaric nodded:
"Poor little wretch. Still I'd have gone through with it.
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