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Allen, James Lane, 1849-1925

"The Mettle of the Pasture"

But it is the first time--try not
to believe it to be my character. I am compelled to tell you that
it is one of the humiliations you have forced upon me."
"I have understood this," he said hastily, breaking the silence she
had imposed upon him.
"Then let it pass," she cried nervously. "It is enough that I have
been obliged to observe my own hypocrisies, and that I have asked
you to countenance and to conceal them."
He offered no response. And in a little while she went on:
"I ought to tell you one thing more. Last week I made all my
arrangements to go away at once, for the summer, for a long time.
I did not expect to see you again. Two or three times I started to
the station. I have stayed until now because it seemed best after
all to speak to you once more. This is my reason for being here
to-night; and it is the only apology I can offer to myself or to
you for what I am doing."
There was a sad and bitter vehemence in her words; she quivered
with passion.
"Isabel," he said more urgently, "there is nothing I am not
prepared to tell you."
When she spoke again, it was with difficulty and everything seemed
to hang upon her question:
"Does any one else know?"
His reply was immediate:
"No one else knows."
"Have you every reason to believe this?"
"I have every reason to believe this."
"You kept your secret well," she said with mournful irony. "You
reserved it for the one person whom it could most injure: my
privilege is too great!"
"It is true," he said.


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