You did not learn that in a convent. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. The Widgett method of thought puzzled her weakly rhetorical mind. I presume that I may not kiss you in the street?” “Certainly not, sir,” she replied, laughing.
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