If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. We’ll run away together, we’ll elope.
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