Semanticate

src/epub/text/chapter-10.xhtml

@@ -14,13 +14,13 @@
 				<p>At breakfast Anson appeared neat and shaven and smooth, as though there had been no struggle a few hours before in the drawing-room, as if the thing had made no impression upon the smooth surface which he turned toward the world. Olivia poured his coffee quietly and permitted him to kiss her as he had done every day for twenty years⁠—a strange, cold, absentminded kiss⁠—and stood in the doorway to watch him drive off to the train. Nothing had changed; it seemed to her that life at Pentlands had become incapable of any change.</p>
 				<p>And as she turned from the door Peters summoned her to the telephone to receive the telegram from Jean and Sybil; they had been married at seven in Hartford.</p>
 				<p>She set out at once to find John Pentland and after a search she came upon him in the stable-yard talking with Higgins. The strange pair stood by the side of the red mare, who watched them with her small, vicious red eyes; they were talking in that curious intimate way which descended upon them at the mention of horses, and as she approached she was struck, as she always was, by the fiery beauty of the animal, the pride of her lean head, the trembling of the fine nostrils as she breathed, the savagery of her eye. She was a strange, half-evil, beautiful beast. Olivia heard Higgins saying that it was no use trying to breed her⁠ ⁠… an animal like that, who kicked and screamed and bit at the very sight of another horse.⁠ ⁠…</p>
-				<p>Higgins saw her first and, touching his cap, bade her good morning, and as the old man turned, she said, “I’ve news for you, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Pentland.”</p>
+				<p>Higgins saw her first and, touching his cap, bade her good morning, and as the old man turned, she said, “I’ve news for you, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Pentland.”</p>
 				<p>A shrewd, queer look came into his eyes and he asked, “Is it about Sybil?”</p>
 				<p>“Yes.⁠ ⁠… It’s done.”</p>
-				<p>She saw that Higgins was mystified, and she was moved by a desire to tell him. Higgins ought to know certainly among the first. And she added, “It’s about Miss Sybil. She married young <abbr>Mr.</abbr> de Cyon this morning in Hartford.”</p>
+				<p>She saw that Higgins was mystified, and she was moved by a desire to tell him. Higgins ought to know certainly among the first. And she added, “It’s about Miss Sybil. She married young <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> de Cyon this morning in Hartford.”</p>
 				<p>The news had a magical effect on the little groom; his ugly, shriveled face expanded into a broad grin and he slapped his thigh in his enthusiasm. “That’s grand, Ma’am.⁠ ⁠… I don’t mind telling you I was for it all along. She couldn’t have done better⁠ ⁠… nor him either.”</p>
 				<p>Again moved by impulse, she said, “So you think it’s a good thing?”</p>
-				<p>“It’s grand, Ma’am. He’s one in a million. He’s the only one I know who was good enough. I was afraid she was going to throw herself away on <abbr>Mr.</abbr> O’Hara.⁠ ⁠… But she ought to have a younger man.”</p>
+				<p>“It’s grand, Ma’am. He’s one in a million. He’s the only one I know who was good enough. I was afraid she was going to throw herself away on <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> O’Hara.⁠ ⁠… But she ought to have a younger man.”</p>
 				<p>She turned away from him, pleased and relieved from the anxiety which had never really left her since the moment they drove off into the darkness. She kept thinking, “Higgins is always right about people. He has a second sight.” Somehow, of them all, she trusted him most as a judge.</p>
 				<p>John Pentland led her away, out of range of Higgins’ curiosity, along the hedge that bordered the gardens. The news seemed to affect him strangely, for he had turned pale, and for a long time he simply stood looking over the hedge in silence. At last he asked, “When did they do it?”</p>
 				<p>“Last night.⁠ ⁠… She went for a drive with him and they didn’t come back.”</p>
@@ -83,8 +83,8 @@
 				<p>“You!⁠ ⁠… You!⁠ ⁠…” began Aunt Cassie, and then fell back, a broken woman.</p>
 				<p>“I suppose,” continued Sabine ruthlessly, “that we ought to tell the Mannering boy.”</p>
 				<p>“Yes,” cried Aunt Cassie, reviving again. “Yes! There’s the boy she ought to have married.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
-				<p>“And <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Soames,” said Sabine. “She’ll be pleased at the news.”</p>
-				<p>Olivia spoke for the first time in nearly half an hour. “It’s no use. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Pentland has been over to see her, but she didn’t understand what it was he wanted to tell her. She was in a daze⁠ ⁠… only half-conscious⁠ ⁠… and they think she may not recover this time.”</p>
+				<p>“And <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Soames,” said Sabine. “She’ll be pleased at the news.”</p>
+				<p>Olivia spoke for the first time in nearly half an hour. “It’s no use. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Pentland has been over to see her, but she didn’t understand what it was he wanted to tell her. She was in a daze⁠ ⁠… only half-conscious⁠ ⁠… and they think she may not recover this time.”</p>
 				<p>In a whisper, lost in the greater agitation of Aunt Cassie’s sobs, she said to Sabine, “It’s like the end of everything for him. I don’t know what he’ll do.”</p>
 				<hr/>
 				<p>The confusion of the day seemed to increase rather than to die away. Aunt Cassie was asked to stay to lunch, but she said it was impossible to consider swallowing even a crust of bread. “It would choke me!” she cried melodramatically.</p>
@@ -129,7 +129,7 @@
 				<h3 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">III</h3>
 				<p>In the tragedy the elopement became lost and forgotten. Doctors came and went; even reporters put in an awkward appearance, eager for details of the death and the marriage in the Pentland family, and somehow the confusion brought peace to Olivia. They forgot her, save as one who managed everything quietly; for they had need just then of someone who did not break into wild spasms of grief or wander about helplessly. In the presence of death, Anson forgot even his anger over the elopement, and late in the afternoon Olivia saw him for the first time when he came to her helplessly to ask, “The men have come to photograph the portraits. What shall we do?”</p>
 				<p>And she answered, “Send them away. We can photograph ancestors any time. They’ll always be with us.”</p>
-				<p>Sabine volunteered to send word to Sybil and Jean. At such times all her cold-blooded detachment made of her a person of great value, and Olivia knew that she could be trusted to find them because she wanted her motor again desperately. Remembering her promise to the old man, she went across to see <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Soames, but nothing came of it, for the old lady had fallen into a state of complete unconsciousness. She would, they told Olivia, probably die without ever knowing that John Pentland had gone before her.</p>
+				<p>Sabine volunteered to send word to Sybil and Jean. At such times all her cold-blooded detachment made of her a person of great value, and Olivia knew that she could be trusted to find them because she wanted her motor again desperately. Remembering her promise to the old man, she went across to see <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Soames, but nothing came of it, for the old lady had fallen into a state of complete unconsciousness. She would, they told Olivia, probably die without ever knowing that John Pentland had gone before her.</p>
 				<p>Aunt Cassie took up her throne in the darkened drawing-room and there, amid the acrid smell of the first chrysanthemums of the autumn, she held a red-eyed, snuffling court to receive the calls of all the countryside. Again she seemed to rise for a time triumphant and strong, even overcoming her weakness enough to go and come from the gazeboed house on foot, arriving early and returning late. She insisted upon summoning Bishop Smallwood to conduct the services, and discovered after much trouble that he was attending a church conference in the West. In reply to her telegram she received only an answer that it was impossible for him to return, even if they delayed the funeral⁠ ⁠… that in the role of prominent defender of the Virgin Birth he could not leave the field at a moment when the power of his party was threatened.</p>
 				<p>It seemed for a time that, as Sabine had hoped, the whole structure of the family was falling about them in ruins.</p>
 				<p>As for Olivia, she would have been at peace save that three times within two days notes came to her from Michael⁠—notes which she sent back unopened because she was afraid to read them; until at last she wrote on the back of one, “There is nothing more to say. Leave me in peace.” And after that there was only silence, which in a strange way seemed to her more unbearable than the sight of his writing. She discovered that two persons had witnessed the tragedy⁠—Higgins, who had been riding with the old man, and Sabine, who had been walking the river path⁠—walking only because Jean and Sybil had her motor. Higgins knew only that the mare had run off and killed his master; but Sabine had a strangely different version, which she recounted to Olivia as they sat in her room, the day after.</p>
@@ -141,10 +141,10 @@
 				<p>It was a horrible thought which she tried to kill, but it lingered, together with the regret that she had never finished what she had begun to tell him as they stood by the hedge talking of the letters⁠—that one day Jean might take the name of John Pentland. He had, after all, as much right to it as he had to the name of de Cyon; it would be only a little change, but it would allow the name of Pentland to go on and on. All the land, all the money, all the tradition, would go down to Pentland children, and so make a reason for their existence; and in the end the name would be something more then than a thing embalmed in <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">The Pentland Family and the Massachusetts Bay Colony</i>. The descendants would be, after all, of Pentland blood, or at least of the blood of Savina Dalgedo and Toby Cane, which had come long ago to be Pentland blood.</p>
 				<p>And she thought grimly, “He was right, after all. I am one of them at last⁠ ⁠… in spite of everything. It’s I who am carrying on now.”</p>
 				<hr/>
-				<p>On the morning of the funeral, as she stood on the terrace expecting Jean and Sybil, Higgins, dressed in his best black suit and looking horribly awkward and ill at ease, came toward her to say, looking away from her, “<abbr>Mr.</abbr> O’Hara is going away. They’re putting up a ‘For Sale’ sign on his gate. He isn’t coming back.” And then looking at her boldly he added, “I thought you might want to know, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Pentland.”</p>
+				<p>On the morning of the funeral, as she stood on the terrace expecting Jean and Sybil, Higgins, dressed in his best black suit and looking horribly awkward and ill at ease, came toward her to say, looking away from her, “<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> O’Hara is going away. They’re putting up a ‘For Sale’ sign on his gate. He isn’t coming back.” And then looking at her boldly he added, “I thought you might want to know, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Pentland.”</p>
 				<p>For a moment she had a sudden, fierce desire to cry out, “No, he mustn’t go! You must tell him to stay. I can’t let him go away like that!” She wanted suddenly to run across the fields to the bright, vulgar, new house, to tell him herself. She thought, “He meant, then, what he said. He’s given up everything here.”</p>
 				<p>But she knew, too, that he had gone away to fight, freed now and moved only by his passion for success, for victory.</p>
-				<p>And before she could answer Higgins, who stood there wanting her to send him to Michael, Miss Egan appeared, starched and rigid and wearing the professional expression of solemnity which she adopted in the presence of bereaved families. She said, “It’s about <em>her</em>, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Pentland. She seems very bright this morning and quite in her right mind. She wants to know why he hasn’t been to see her for two whole days. I thought.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
+				<p>And before she could answer Higgins, who stood there wanting her to send him to Michael, Miss Egan appeared, starched and rigid and wearing the professional expression of solemnity which she adopted in the presence of bereaved families. She said, “It’s about <em>her</em>, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Pentland. She seems very bright this morning and quite in her right mind. She wants to know why he hasn’t been to see her for two whole days. I thought.⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 				<p>Olivia interrupted her quietly. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll go and tell her. I’ll explain. It’s better for me to do it.”</p>
 				<p>She went away into the house, knowing bitterly that she left Miss Egan and Higgins thinking of her with pity.</p>
 				<p>As she climbed the worn stair carpet to the north wing, she knew suddenly a profound sense of peace such as she had not known for years. It was over and done now, and life would go on the same as it had always done, filled with trickiness and boredom and deceits, but pleasant, too, in spite of everything, perhaps because, as John Pentland had said, “One had sometimes to pretend.” And, after all, Sybil had escaped and was happy.</p>