" He watched her anxiously for a sign, but got none. So still she
sat, glooming, watching herself--as on a scene.
"Mind," he said in a new tone. "You know all about me. I jibbed at first
when you broke away. I'll own to that. I couldn't do otherwise. Why, old
Senhouse himself went half off his head about it. Anything in the world to
get you out of it, I'd have done. Any mortal thing, my dear. But there!
There was no holding you--off you went! But when once the thing was
started--the extraordinary thing was that I was on your side directly. And
so I always have been. Ask Vicky--ask your mother. I've done, in my quiet
way, what you would never have asked of me. You must forgive me--I've
defended you everywhere. I won't mention names, but I've explained your
case, only lately, in a rocky quarter--and I know I've made an impression.
I'm not much good at talking, as a rule, but I do believe that I put the
thing rather well. You make your own laws--eh? Like Napoleon Buonaparte--
eh? And somehow--the way you do it--it's all right, eh, Sancie?"
He got nothing from her. She sat on rigid, with unwinking eyes, staring at
herself, as she saw herself on the scene. Chevenix leaned to her.
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