Reginald Morton had certainly not made up his mind to ask Mary
Masters to be his wife. Thinking of Mary Masters very often as he
had done during the last two months, he was quite sure that he did
not mean to marry at all. He did acknowledge to himself that were
he to allow himself to fall in love with any one it would be with
Mary Masters,--but for not doing so there were many reasons. He had
lived so long alone that a married life would not suit him; as a
married man he would be a poor man; he himself was averse to
company, whereas most women prefer society. And then, as to this
special girl, had he not reason for supposing that she preferred
another man to him, and a man of such a class that the very
preference showed her to be unfit to mate with him? He also
cozened himself with an idea that it was well that he should have
the opportunity which the journey would give him of apologising for
his previous rudeness to her.
In the carriage they had the compartment to themselves with the
exception of an old lady at the further end who had a parrot in a
cage for which she had taken a first-class ticket. "I can't offer
you this seat," said the old lady, "because it has been booked and
paid for my bird." As neither of the new passengers had shown
the slightest wish for the seat the communication was perhaps
unnecessary.
Pages:
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277