’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. When mistress took and died—’ Joan broke off and sighed, moving away to the window. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. If such a thing in connexion with him had been possible they would have declared that he was in a towering rage. “Nothing so base.
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