It was true
they had not known one another long, but what was she, a teacher in a
common school, that was what people called them, to put on airs before
such a man as that? If it had been Mr. Wilkinson, now; but, no; she was
afraid of Mr. Wilkinson, the distant, the irreproachable, the autocratic
great Mogul. She looked down again, through the blinds of course.
Marjorie Thomas was on the lawyer's knee, and Marjorie Carruthers on the
veteran's. The Captain's daughter was combing Coristine's brown hair
with her fingers, and pointing the ends of his moustache, much to the
other Marjorie's amusement and the lawyer's evident satisfaction. Miss
Carmichael inwardly called her cousin a saucy little minx, resenting her
familiarities with a man who was, of course, nothing to her, in a way
that startled herself. Why had he not saved somebody's life and been
wounded, instead of that poetic fossil of a Wilkinson? But, no; it was
better not, for, had he saved the colonel's life, Cecile would have been
with him, and that she could not bear to think of. Then, she remembered
what Corry had told her of the advertisement to the next of kin.
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