"
There had been, he said, nothing but "ructions" at home about her for the
last three weeks. Everybody in the family was heartily sick of
quarrelling. His governor had charged him to bring her to this address
and say that the lady and gentleman were quite welcome to all there was
in it. She hadn't enough sense to appreciate a plain, honest English
home and she was better out of it.
The young, pimply-faced fellow was vexed by this job his governor had
sprung on him. It was the cause of his missing an appointment for that
afternoon with a certain young lady. The lady he was engaged to. But he
meant to dash back and try for a sight of her that evening yet "if he
were to burst over it." "Good-bye, Florrie. Good luck to you--and I
hope I'll never see your face again."
With that he ran out in lover-like haste leaving the hall-door wide open.
Mrs. Fyne had not found a word to say. She had been too much taken aback
even to gasp freely. But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's
arm just as she, too, was running out into the street--with the haste, I
suppose, of despair and to keep I don't know what tragic tryst.
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