That night Bryce and his father, as was their custom after dinner,
repaired to the library, where the bustling and motherly Mrs. Tully
served their coffee. This good soul, after the democratic fashion in
vogue in many Western communities, had never been regarded as a
servant; neither did she so regard herself. She was John Cardigan's
housekeeper, and as such she had for a quarter of a century served
father and son their meals and then seated herself at the table with
them. This arrangement had but one drawback, although this did not
present itself until after Bryce's return to Sequoia and his
assumption of the direction of the Cardigan destinies. For Mrs. Tully
had a failing common to many of her sex: she possessed for other
people's business an interest absolutely incapable of satisfaction--
and she was, in addition, garrulous beyond belief. The library was
the one spot in the house which at the beginning of her employment
John Cardigan had indicated to Mrs. Tully as sanctuary for him and
his; hence, having served the coffee this evening, the amiable
creature withdrew, although not without a pang as she reflected upon
the probable nature of their conversation and the void which must
inevitably result by reason of the absence of her advice and friendly
cooperation and sympathy.
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