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Oemler, Marie Conway, 1879-1932

"The Purple Heights"


He made an impatient gesture. "I want to know what she's going to
do. Surely she isn't going to allow herself to be bound by that old
lunatic's will, is she?"
"He wasn't an old lunatic; he was an old genius. Jason had an almost
superstitious reverence for his judgment. Somehow, his plans always
managed to come out all right,--in the end. Even when they seemed
wild, they came out all right. They're still coming out all right."
"And you think this insane marriage is likely to come out all right
in the end, too?" he asked sharply.
"I don't know. Stranger things have happened. Why shouldn't this?"
"Why should it? That fellow Champneys--"
"Is said to be a great painter. At least, he is certainly a very
successful one. Whether or not he can make good as Anne Champneys's
husband remains to be seen." Mrs. Vandervelde was not above the
innate feminine cattiness. Hayden rose abruptly and began to pace
the room. He was vaguely aware that he had been astrally scratched
across the nose.
"And you think a girl like Anne will be willing to play patient
Griselda?" he asked, scornfully.


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