” 209 Clotilde was no fool. The slight smile that played upon Winifred's lips seemed to say that she was not quite so sure. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. ’ The gentleness in his voice nearly overset her. “Sure, I guess so. The reward is mine. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. ‘That’s not much comfort. ‘And nor do I. “It’s his birthday. She tried not to blush. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. I’m not that sort I quite agree. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face.
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