But you know, your mother thinks a great deal of
that kind of thing. She says we owe a deal to our station, you know.
There's something in it, my dear. I'm bound to say that."
"Papa, he--wants me again. He thinks he does."
"Oh, my dear, there's no doubt about that--none at all. He proposes--well,
it's _carte blanche_; there's no other word for it. A blank cheque, you
know. We must do Master Nevile justice. It is the least he can do; but he
does it."
"What am I to do, Papa?" The poor gentleman looked rather blank.
"Do, my dear? Do?" He puzzled; then, as the light broke on him, could not
help showing his dismay. "Why, you don't mean to say--Oh, my child, is
that what you mean?"
She clung to him convulsively, buried her face.
"God help us all!" His thought, his pity, his love whirled him hither and
thither. He shivered in the blast. "'Pon my soul, I don't know how we
shall break it to your mother. I don't, indeed." He stared miserably, then
caught her to him. "It breaks my heart to see you like this--my child; it
cuts me to the heart. Sancie, what are we to do?"
She sat up and brushed her dry eyes with her handkerchief. "I know.
There's nothing to do. It's my fate.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366