"I'm not such a fool. She knows me
too well by this time for that."
There was an awkward pause. Saunders, with eyes on the door, was
rising. With an appealing look of detention in his worn face Mostyn
also stood up. "I'd give a great deal to see her. I'd be glad even to
see a picture of her. I wonder what she looks like now. She was
scarcely more than a child when she and I--when we parted. I don't
think there can be any harm in my being frank in these days when the
wives of men make a jest of matrimonial love, and I confess freely
that I have never been able to forget--"
"Don't tell me about it!" Saunders interrupted. "You have no right,
Mostyn, even to think of her after--after what took place. But you
ought to have sense enough, at any rate, to know that she wouldn't
continue to care for you all these years. I see her now and then and
talk to her. I am helping her build a new schoolhouse up there on some
land I donated, and have had to consult her several times of late
about the building-plans. She is more beautiful and brilliant than
ever, though she still has cares enough. Her father doesn't make much
of a living, and her brother George is engaged to one of the girls in
the neighborhood and so cannot be counted on for help.
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