The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ” “Well, you can’t say you’re a failure there,” Lady Lescelles remarked, smiling. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. Hill would have followed her, but Mrs. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. The Ragged Edge.
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