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Updated: June 7, 2025
Then fell silent, while his senses quietly absorbed the whole scene before him the man and woman in evening dress, the flower-decked table with its half-emptied coffee-cups and evidences of a recent gay little supper, the mingled scent of cigarette smoke and carnations. Last of all, his glance, cold and contemptuous, swept over Cara's white face. He gave a short laugh.
He looked at Cara's face, rising up among the white blossoms, and he thought, or rather felt that, while those others seemed removed by boundless space, she alone was very near to him. "Mine!" he whispered. She alone. He did not know precisely how that could happen, but mentally he placed that little head with golden hair upon his shoulders, and said to it: "Let us flee, little one!
They will cure you to a certainty. But now you may swallow a little of those excellent sweets which those gentlemen let us give you. Or a drop of wine. Perhaps a spoonful, one little spoonful of bouillon?" Cara's only answer was to turn on her yellowish bed to the wall sprinkled with spring flowers, her face in scarlet flushes.
I think the only excuse to be made for her is that she was very young when it all happened." "I'm young," said Ann grimly, "but I hope I wouldn't be as mean as that." "You?" Cara's eyes rested with a wistful kind of tenderness on the flushed face against the pillows. "But, my dear, there's a world of difference between you and the girl Eliot Coventry was in love with."
But, you see, it was Cara's own stupidity, for, like the rest of his tribe, he would always eat anything that was green, no matter where it grew or what it looked like. Poor Siccatee was in great trouble. She had been very busy for some time past laying up food for the winter, and it had taken many weeks' hard work.
Then, as Cara nodded assent: "I thought so! Well, I'm not going to be kept out of it. I'm going straight across to Heronsmere now, at once to tell Eliot the whole truth." She swept Cara's protest royally aside, and within a few minutes Cara herself was on her way home and Billy Brewster flinging the harness on the pony's back at unprecedented speed.
She sat down, and pale with fear, placed her helpless hands upon her knees. What could she do in presence of those blue lips, which were as silent as if shut by some seal, either sacred or infernal? What could she do? Cara's father was not at home, and to call her mother, when the very mention of that mother brought a cry of terror from the girl's breast, would have been a useless cruelty.
"But you're a particular friend. You know Cara's peculiar temper, and can advise with me as a friend. So come along, I want to have a talk with you." "Come where?" Ellis turned and pointed to a brilliant gas lamp in the next square, that stood in front of a much frequented tavern. "No, no; I must go home." And Wilkinson tried to extricate himself from the firm grasp of his friend.
He was not a sportsman; it hurt him to kill any living creature. But all the young men in the parish went slaughtering birds on St. Stephen's Day; and the Parson allowed there was warrant for it, because, when St. Strange to say, John Cara's dislike of gunning went with a singular aptitude for it.
The broad shoulders and the lancelike carriage proclaimed Von Ritz even before the downcast face was raised. At Cara's door the European wheeled uncertainly and paused. Because something vague and subconscious in Benton's mind had catalogued this man as a harbinger of trouble and branded him with distrust, his own eyes contracted and the rose ceased twirling.
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