Come home alone. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. She was a large, resilient girl, with a foolish smile, a still more foolish expression of earnestness, and a throaty contralto voice. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary.
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