She took it out of the pretty fancy bag, which lay on her pale blue silk
eiderdown, and read it through again with a mixture of amusement and
irritation. It was a long letter, written on the cheap, grey Old Place
notepaper, very unlike another love-letter she had had to-day, written
on nice, thick, highly-glazed letter-paper which had a small coronet
embossed above the address. In that letter Captain Tremaine urgently
asked to be allowed to come down for the next week-end. He pointed out
that his leave was drawing to a close, and that they had a lot of things
to discuss. He, too, considered himself engaged to her, but somehow she
didn't mind that. She told herself pettishly that Providence has a way of
managing things very badly. If only Tremaine had Radmore's money, even
only a portion of his money, how gladly she would leave England behind
her, and start a new, free, delightful life in India! Tremaine knew the
kind of grand, smart people she longed to know. He was staying with some
of them now.
Just as this thought was drifting through her mind, the door opened
and she hurriedly stuffed Jack's letter beneath her silk quilt.
Radmore walked in, and his face softened as he looked down on the pale,
fragile-looking girl--for she did look very much like a girl--lying on
the sofa.
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