She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. “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. In a convent, you understand, one is like a servant, even if one is a lady. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. ’ ‘But it is a very good English name,’ she protested. Better get a dress. Her back stiffened. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one.
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