I've felt all sorts of reserves and qualifications about
her, and concealed them--for the sake of--of I don't know
what--the pleasure I had in knowing her, I suppose."
"It seems to me pretty clear, from this precious
communication, that she was quietly reciprocating," Kendal
said bluntly.
"That doesn't clear me in the least. Besides, when she
had made up her mind she had the courage to tell me what
she thought; there was some principle in that. I--I admire
her for doing it, but I couldn't, myself."
"Thank the Lord, no. And I wouldn't be too sure, if I
were you, darling, about the unmixed heroism that dictates
her letter. I dare say she fancied it was that, but--"
Janet's head leaped up from his shoulder. "Now you are
unjust to her," she cried. "You don't know Elfrida, Jack.
If you think her capable of assuming a motive--"
"Well, do you know what I think?" said Kendal, with an
irrelevant smile, glancing at the letter in her hand. "I
think she has kept a copy."
Janet looked at him with reproachful eyes, which
nevertheless had the relief of amusement in them. "Don't
you?" he insisted.
"I--dare say."
"And she thoroughly enjoyed writing as she did. The
phrases read as if she had rolled them under her tongue.
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