all these considerations,
somewhat in his own grand manner, I made this remark:
"If your wife likes me, which very possibly she may fail to do, I shall
have a few questions to ask you before I settle down to my duties. Will
you see that an opportunity is given me for doing this?"
His assent was as frank as all the rest, and the next moment he left the
room.
As he passed out I heard him remark to Miss Davies:
"I expect Miss Saunders at my house before nightfall. I shall reserve
some minutes between half-past five and six in which to introduce her to
Mrs. Packard."
CHAPTER II. QUESTIONS
I knew all the current gossip about Mrs. Packard before I had parted
with Miss Davies. Her story was a simple one. Bred in the West, she had
come, immediately after her mother's death, to live with that mother's
brother in Detroit. In doing this she had walked into a fortune. Her
uncle was a rich man and when he died, which was about a year after
her marriage with Mr. Packard and removal to C--, she found herself
the recipient of an enormous legacy. She was therefore a woman of
independent means, an advantage which, added to personal attractions of
a high order, and manners at once dignified and winning, caused her
to be universally regarded as a woman greatly to be envied by all who
appreciated a well-founded popularity.
So much for public opinion. It differs materially from that just given
me by her husband.
The mayor lived on Franklin Street in a quarter I had seldom visited. As
I entered this once aristocratic thoroughfare from Carlton Avenue, I was
struck as I had been before by its heterogeneous appearance. Houses of
strictly modern type neighbored those of a former period, and it was
not uncommon to see mansion and hovel confronting each other from the
opposite side of the street. Should I find the number I sought attached
to one of the crude, unmeaning dwellings I was constantly passing, or to
one of mellower aspect and possibly historic association?
I own that I felt a decided curiosity on this point, and congratulated
myself greatly when I had left behind me a peculiarly obnoxious
monstrosity in stone, whose imposing proportions might reasonably
commend themselves to the necessities, if not to the taste of the city's
mayor.
A little shop, one story in height and old enough for its simple wooden
walls to cry aloud for paint, stood out from the middle of a row of
cheap brick houses. Directly opposite it
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