A Crooked Path A Novel
CHAPTER I. "GATHERING CLOUDS." The London season had not yet reached its height, some years ago, before the arch admitting to Constitution Hill had been swept back to make room for the huge, ever-increasing stream of traffic, or the plebeian 'bus had been permitted to penetrate the precincts of Hamilton Place. It was the forenoon of a splendid day, one of the earliest of June, and at that hour the roadway between the entrance to Hyde Park and the gate then surmounted by the statue of the Duke of Wellington on his drooping steed was comparatively free, when two gentlemen coming from opposite directions recognized each other, and paused at the gate of Apsley House--the elder, a stout, florid man of military aspect, middle age, and average height, with large gray mustache and small, slightly bloodshot eyes; the younger, who was tall and bony, might have been thirty, or even forty, so grave and sedate was his bearing, although his erect carriage, elastic step, and clear keen dark eyes suggested earlier manhood.
"This Marian well knew that with Mrs. Weatherbee Jane could not agree,"
asserted Adrienne. "She had the opinion that when Jane arrived here Mrs.
Weatherbee would listen to nothing she might say. So she had the
mistaken opinion."
"Mrs. Weatherbee always means to be just," defended Dorothy. "She has
rather prim ideas about things, but she's a stickler for principle. I am
glad she's over her prejudice against you, Jane."
"So am I," nodded Jane. "About this whole affair, Dorothy, I don't
intend to worry any more. I'm going to be too busy trying to be a good
sophomore pioneer to trouble myself with either Marian Seaton or her
cousin. Nothing that she did last year to try to injure me succeeded.
As long as I plod straight ahead and keep right with myself I've nothing
to fear from her."
CHAPTER VIII
A HAPPY THOUGHT
During the week that followed Jane became too fully occupied with
CHAPTER I. "GATHERING CLOUDS." The London season had not yet reached its height, some years ago, before the arch admitting to Constitution Hill had been swept back to make room for the huge, ever-increasing stream of traffic, or the plebeian 'bus had been permitted to penetrate the precincts of Hamilton Place. It was the forenoon of a splendid day, one of the earliest of June, and at that hour the roadway between the entrance to Hyde Park and the gate then surmounted by the statue of the Duke of Wellington on his drooping steed was comparatively free, when two gentlemen coming from opposite directions recognized each other, and paused at the gate of Apsley House--the elder, a stout, florid man of military aspect, middle age, and average height, with large gray mustache and small, slightly bloodshot eyes; the younger, who was tall and bony, might have been thirty, or even forty, so grave and sedate was his bearing, although his erect carriage, elastic step, and clear keen dark eyes suggested earlier manhood.