"My love--yes; my love could and would forgive anything, if it related
only to--to--the man I loved and--me!"
The frown deepened on Huntter's face; he turned uneasily.
"After all," he muttered, "a man and woman see things so differently.
There is no use!"
"I wonder--if things would not seem plainer if they saw them--together?"
But Priscilla saw she had gone too far. The whimsical mood in Huntter had
passed. He was himself again, and she was his nurse--his nurse who knew
too much! More fretfully than he had ever spoken to her, he said:
"I wish to be alone, Miss Glynn."
Priscilla passed out, leaving the door between the rooms ajar, and lay
down upon the couch.
To Doctor Hapgood she was a machine merely; an easy-running one, a
dependable one, but none the less a machine. To Huntter, shut away from
society, gregarious, friendly, and kindly, she had meant much more. Her
recent experience abroad, with all the exquisite touches of human
interest and uplift, had left her peculiarly sensitive to her present
environment.
She liked the man in the room next her. There was much that was noble and
fine about him, but he was a type that had never entered her life before,
and often, by his kindliest word and gesture, drew her attention to a
yawning space between them.
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