’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The former was shot by Blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the bannisters. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. They returned to the castle, neither of them speaking. One called her very distinctly “My dear!” Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least, there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and terror. I loved her so much. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself.
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