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ould give me a worthier scope for my abilities and yet (Jenny looked at me almost tenderly) let me stay in my dear little home--near Breysgate--"and near me, Mr. Austin." She played with the idea--as she played with us. Some gossip about it began to trickle through Catsford. There was much interest, and Jenny became quite a heroine. Meanwhile plans for the poor old Memorial Hall were suspended. According to Bindlecombe the only possible site for the visible realization of this splendid idea--the only site which the congested condition of the center of the borough allowed, and also the only one worthy of the great Institute--was the garden and grounds of Hatcham Ford. The beautiful old house itself was to be preserved as the center of an imposing group of handsome buildings; the old gardens need not be materially spoiled--so Bindlecombe unplausibly maintained. The flavor of antiquity and aristocracy thus imparted to the Institute would, Bindlecombe declared, give it a charm and a dignity beyond those possessed by any other Institute the world over. I was there when he first made this suggestion to Jenny. She looked at him in silence, smiled, and glanced quickly at me. The look, though quick, was audacious--under the circumstances. "But what will Mr. Octon say to that?" Bindlecombe deferentially hinted that he understood that Mr. Octon's lease of Hatcham Ford expired, or could be broken, in two or three years. He understood--perhaps he was wrong--that Mr. Driver usually reserved a power to break leases at the end of seven years? Mr. Cartmell would, of course, know all about that. "Oh, if that's so," said Jenny, "of course it would be quite simple. Wouldn't it, Mr. Austin?" "As simple as drawing a badger," I replied--and Bindlecombe looked surprised to hear such a sporting simile pass my lips. It was by no means a bad one, though, and Jenny rewarded it with a merry little nod. At this point, then, her public project touched her private relations--and her relations with Octon had been close ever since her return from Paris. He had been a constant visitor at Breysgate, and my belief was that within a very few weeks of her arrival he had made a direct attack--had confronted her with a downright proposal--demand is a word which suits his method better--for her hand. I did not think that she had refused, I was sure that she had not accepted. She was fond of referring, in his presence, to the recent date of her fath
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