ttention. No two tales were ever alike. His
admiration for Honora did not wane, but increased. It differed from that
of his sisters, however, in being a tribute to her creative faculties,
while Edith's breathless faith pictured her cousin as having passed
through as many adventures as Queen Esther. George paid her a
characteristic compliment, but chivalrously drew her aside to bestow it.
He was not one to mince matters.
"You're a wonder, Honora," he said. "If I could lie like that, I
wouldn't want a pony."
He was forced to draw back a little from the heat of the conflagration
he had kindled.
"George Hanbury," she cried, "don't you ever speak to me again! Never!
Do you understand?"
It was thus that George, at some cost, had made a considerable discovery
which, for the moment, shook even his scepticism. Honora believed it all
herself.
Cousin Eleanor Hanbury was a person, or personage, who took a deep
and abiding interest in her fellow-beings, and the old clothes of the
Hanbury family went unerringly to the needy whose figures most
resembled those of the original owners. For Mrs. Hanbury had a wide but
comparatively unknown charity list. She was, secretly, one of the many
providence which Honora accepted collectively, although it is by no
means certain whether Honora, at this period, would have thanked her
cousin for tuition at Miss Farmer's school, and for her daily tasks at
French and music concerning which Aunt Mary was so particular. On the
memorable Christmas morning when, arrayed in green velvet, she arrived
with her aunt and uncle for dinner in Wayland Square, Cousin Eleanor
drew Aunt Mary into her bedroom and shut the door, and handed her a
sealed envelope. Without opening it, but guessing with much accuracy its
contents, Aunt Mary handed it back.
"You are doing too much, Eleanor," she said.
Mrs. Hanbury was likewise a direct person.
"I will, take it back on one condition, Mary. If you will tell me that
Tom has finished paying Randolph's debts."
Mrs. Leffingwell was silent.
"I thought not," said Mrs. Hanbury. "Now Randolph was my own cousin, and
I insist."
Aunt Mary turned over the envelope, and there followed a few moments'
silence, broken only by the distant clamour of tin horns and other
musical instruments of the season.
"I sometimes think, Mary, that Honora is a little like Randolph,
and-Mrs. Randolph. Of course, I did not know her."
"Neither did I," said Aunt Mary.
"Mary," sa
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