Mistress of Brown Furrows

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Book: Read Mistress of Brown Furrows for Free Online
Authors: Susan Barrie
twinkle of amusement very plainly discernible in their blue depths, hers merely grave and searching. And suddenly the color returned to her cheeks and her eyelashes were lowered rather abruptly. For something of what he was offering had come to her while she gazed at him, and affected her with rather an acute sensation of shyness.
    She had seen the women looking at him in the theatre, the way assistants sprang forward to attend him in the various shops they had visited together, the deference of waiters when they appeared in restaurants. He might be many years older than she was, and his experience of life was certainly vast compared with hers, but at least there were many women—of all ages—who would jump, she felt certain, at the mere idea of marrying him, should the opportunity ever come their way.
    But why he should ask her to marry him she simply could not understand. For if he was in no way accountable for any of her actions—if he was simply a rather kind and pleasant stranger who had promised her father to do the best he could for her, then he had already done more than he should—much more! He had given her a good education, clothed her in the past, provided her with her latest and most expensive wardrobe, and now he could conscientiously wash his hands of her, and tell her that in future she must earn her own living. Thousands of girls of her age were doing that.
    But the fact that he had asked her to marry him sent the oddest little quiver of satisfaction darting through her, and it was the more odd because she knew she could not accept his offer. He might not realize how unwise he was being, but at least she was not so young that she could not realize it for him!
    “What are you thinking about?” he asked, realizing she was deeply thoughtful.
    “Nothing,” she answered hurriedly, and looked quickly away from him. “Nothing—at all—”
    He beckoned the waiter and requested his bill, and then he stood up and helped her on with her cloak.
    “I think we might discuss this better when we get back to the hotel,” he said. “Or would you prefer to wait until the morning?” “I would, please,” rather faintly.
    “Then the morning it is! ” he agreed at once, very kindly, but one of his dark eyebrows cocked upwards a little humorously.
    That night she dreamed that he and she were standing one on either side of a deep chasm, and that the ground under her feet was very wet and slippery, and that she was very unsure of her foothold. In the depths between them there was nothing but frightening space and a dreadful sensation of loneliness, and she knew a panic-stricken fear lest she should fall into them. The face of the man on the opposite side of the chasm was pleasant and smiling, and he gave her a little encouraging look before suddenly he turned away and started to walk briskly from her, and just as he did so she made an unwary movement and went down on one knee, and worse still she started to slide towards the edge. She let out a desperate call to him to turn, but he did not do so, and thankfully at that moment she woke up....
    At breakfast the next rooming he told her to get on with her scrambled egg while he buried himself in his newspaper and pretended to become immersed in its contents. But after breakfast, in a corner of the hotel lounge, he merely turned and looked a question at her.
    She asked in uncertain voice:
    “Is it really necessary for us to get married? Couldn’ t we— couldn’ t we just go on as we are?”
    “Not without doing something about it,” he replied. “At the moment our relationship is the least little bit improper.”
    “I—I see,” she said. “I’m afraid I never thought of it in that way before. It—it’ s awkward, isn’ t it?”
    He endeavored to conceal a smile.
    “Slightly awkward.”
    “But supposing—supposing one day you wanted to marry someone else? What then?” she asked, a little breathlessly.
    “I should promptly set about divorcing you, of

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