82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Be frank, I beg you, Miss Pellissier. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. ‘She wants me to marry her. ‘He told me everything, if you mean Gerald. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. ‘Come, mademoiselle.
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