Then he wrung her hand once more, and was lost in the darkness—not to return to the Grange till late at night. He had to fight his battle out alone.
But Ethel could have no such relief. Ten minutes of bitter weeping she did allow herself in the lonely garden. Then she was obliged to hasten home, to wash away traces of tears, to evade family inquiries, to elude Tom's troublesome solicitude, to spend a cheerful evening—no easy task under the circumstances.
[CHAPTER XXIV]
WOULD SHE? COULD SHE?
"It may be hard to gain, and still
To keep a lowly steadfast heart;
Yet he who loses has to fill
A harder and a truer part."—A. A. PROCTER.
"FULVIA!"
"Yes."
"There is a house in Bourne Street—"
"Yes." Fulvia spoke curtly, looking up from her work with hard grey eyes. She was alone in the morning-room, and it was Saturday.
"I want you to come and see. It might do."