But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. " Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. ’ She inclined her head, looking up at him through her lashes, and passing a tongue lightly over her lips. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. She tried to be casual. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you.
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