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Caine, Hall, Sir, 1853-1931

"The Woman Thou Gavest Me Being the Story of Mary O'Neill"

But I must leave it to those who know better
than I the way to read a woman's heart to say how it came to pass that
towards five o'clock, when I heard the sound of wheels and going on to
my balcony saw a jaunting-car at the front entrance, and then
opening my door heard Martin's great voice in the hall, I flew
downstairs--literally flew--in my eagerness to welcome him.
There he was in his brown Harris tweeds and soft slouch hat with such an
atmosphere of health and sweep of winds about him as almost took away my
breath.
"Helloa!" he cried, and I am sure his eyes brightened at the sight of me
for they were like the sea when the sun shines on it.
"You're better, aren't you?" he said. "No need to ask that, though--the
colour in your face is wonderful."
In spite of my resolution, and the attempt I made to show him only a
kind of glad seriousness, I could not help it if I blushed. Also I could
not help it if, while going upstairs and telling him what had happened
to the house-party, I said he was doomed to the disappointment of having
nobody except myself for company, and then, woman-like, waited eagerly
for what he would say.


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