As to herself--and the flush deepened, making her in aspect
deliciously youthful and ingenious--she confessed misgivings. Reported
her talk with Carteret concerning the subject, and the scolding received
from him thereupon.
"One more reason for writing in the sense I propose, then," her father
declared, "since it sets your over-modest doubts and qualms at rest, my
dear. That is settled."
His hands weighed on her shoulders as though he suddenly needed and
sought support.
"I will sit down," he said. "There are other matters to be discussed, and
I can, perhaps, talk more easily so."
He went the few steps across to the red chair. Sank into it. Leaned
against the pillows, bending backward, his hand pressed to his left
side. His features contracted, and his breath caught as of one spent
with running. And Damaris, watching him, again received that desolating
impression of change, of his being in spirit far removed, inaccessible
to her sympathy, a stranger. He had gone away and rather terribly left
her alone.
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