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He lays his hands lightly on her arm, yet his touch seems to burn through her gown into her very flesh. He stoops towards her. "Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?" asks Mona, with some animation. "What a wretched evening!" says Violet, with a little shiver. "Geoffrey, draw the curtains closer.".

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"A scheme," he had said; and then in a moment the right words flash across her brain. "A brilliant chance, a splendid scheme." What words for an honest man to use! Could he be honest? Was there any flaw, any damning clause anywhere in all this careful plot, so cleverly constructed to bring ruin upon the heads of these people who have crept into her tender heart? She is very sweet to look at, and attractive and lovable. "Hear me," he says, passionately: "if I am worsted in this fight—and I see no ray of hope anywhere—I am a ruined man. I shall then have literally only five hundred a year that I can call my own. No home; no title. And such an income as that, to people bred as you and I have been, means simply penury. All must be at an end between us, Dorothy. We must try to forget that we have ever been more than ordinary friends." "No, sir; it isn't, sir. We're none of us hard of hearin' glory be to——. Miss Mona," coaxingly, "sure, it's only a step to the house: wouldn't Misther Rodney see ye home now, just for wanst?".