Turning now, and running down the terrace. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. She had felt deserving of the punishment, as he had been mainly concerned that she would be killed by accidentally falling into the pit, but it was a terrible insult. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday.
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