"And you of
course feel it would be useless," I pursued.
He evidently felt that, though he said nothing. He only went on blinking
at me with a solemn and comical slowness. "Unless it be to carry there
the family's blessing," I went on, indulging my chaffing humour steadily,
in a rather sneaking fashion, for I dared not look at Mrs. Fyne, to my
right. No sound or movement came from that direction. "You think very
naturally that to match mere good, sound reasons, against the passionate
conclusions of love is a waste of intellect bordering on the absurd."
He looked surprised as if I had discovered something very clever. He,
dear man, had thought of nothing at all.
He simply knew that he did not want to go to London on that mission. Mere
masculine delicacy. In a moment he became enthusiastic.
"Yes! Yes! Exactly. A man in love . . . You hear, my dear? Here you
have an independent opinion--"
"Can anything be more hopeless," I insisted to the fascinated little
Fyne, "than to pit reason against love. I must confess however that in
this case when I think of that poor girl's sharp chin I wonder if .
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