What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. Her cheeks were aflame. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot.
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