“I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. ” He reeled out of the room. John looked at his feet bashfully. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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