Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. It is not at all comme il faut. " Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. CHAPTER XIV. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. “You are late,” she murmured. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief.
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