"It is not your friendship only that I ask, Arabella. You heard
what I said, what I reported. You will not say that Peter Blood was
wrong?"
Gently she sought to disengage her hand, the trouble in her face
increasing. A moment he resisted; then, realizing what he did, he
set her free.
"Arabella!" he cried on a note of sudden pain.
"I have friendship for you, my lord. But only friendship." His
castle of hopes came clattering down about him, leaving him a little
stunned. As he had said, he was no coxcomb. Yet there was something
that he did not understand. She confessed to friendship, and it was
in his power to offer her a great position, one to which she, a
colonial planter's niece, however wealthy, could never have aspired
even in her dreams. This she rejected, yet spoke of friendship.
Peter Blood had been mistaken, then. How far had he been mistaken?
Had he been as mistaken in her feelings towards himself as he
obviously was in her feelings towards his lordship? In that case
... His reflections broke short.
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