A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. Courtlaw’s—I should like to oblige Mr. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell.
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