I shall miss you. It
was nice to see you again."
"See me again," cried Chevenix, "as soon as you please; but not here--
unless you feel you can make up your mind to settle down, as we call it."
She shook her head. "I don't think I can. I think it might be wicked--as
things are."
Chevenix raised his eyebrows. "That's you all over, my dear. Other
people's Right is your Wrong. Why question the decrees of the police? They
tell you that you may do what you please when you're married, but not
before. But you won't have that. Of course, if you can't swallow Nevile,
you can't--and there's an end of it. Only," he added, "there _must_ be an
end of it. You're in a false position--now."
"According to you I always was," said the candid young lady, and made him
change countenance. She shirked nothing.
"I did think so once; we all did, you know. Even your bare-footed friend,
What's-his-name--"
"Mr. Senhouse."
"Beg your pardon. Mr. Senhouse, of course. Well, he didn't take it sitting
down, so to speak. Did he now?"
She considered. Her eyes grew gentle over the remembrances which this name
always called up. "He knew that I was right. Oh, yes. I'm sure of that.
But he was frightened.
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