For a time all that dependence
on Lord Mistletoe and her uncle deserted her. What effect could
they have on a man who would write such a letter as that? Had she
known that the words were the words of his brother-in-law, even
that would have given her some hope.
But what should she do? Whatever steps she took she must take at
once. And she must tell her mother. Her mother's help would be
necessary to her now in whatever direction she might turn her mind.
She almost thought that she would abandon him without another word.
She had been strong in her reliance on family aid till the time for
invoking it had come; but now she believed that it would be
useless. Could it be that such a man as this would be driven into
marriage by the interference of Lord Mistletoe! She would much like
to bring down some punishment on his head; but in doing so she
would cut all other ground from under her own feet. There were
still open to her Patagonia and the Paragon.
She hated the Paragon, and she recoiled with shuddering from the
idea of Patagonia. But as for hating,--she hated Lord Rufford most.
And what was there that she loved? She tried to ask herself some
question even as to that. There certainly was no man for whom she
cared a straw; nor had there been for the last six or eight years.
Even when he was kissing her she was thinking of her built-up hair,
of her pearl powder, her paint, and of possible accidents and
untoward revelations.
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