He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ‘You were right, miss. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. We both understood that. This isn’t the place. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. “He wants me to have dinner at his parent’s house tonight,” still looking at a series of spots on the carpeting. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene.
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