She had said he was a gentleman.
"Your sister?" Sally whispered. He did not turn; he did not see her
lips twitching in the reaction of relief. He had known nothing of
the whirlwind that had been sweeping through her mind. All that play
he had lost and yet was no loser. Had he seen the jealous hunger in
her heart, it would have pointed the rowels of the spur that was
already drawing its blood.
"Yes; she lives down in Buckinghamshire. My father left her the place.
She's married. That was done of her when she was twenty."
"Apsley Manor?"
"Yes," he twisted round. "How did you know the name of the place?"
"I saw it in _Who's Who?_"
"Oh--" He laughed--laughed hard. "Of course, you told me. Yes, Apsley
Manor. It's a fine old place."
"I'm sure it is. I've often--tried--to picture it."
"I'll take you there one day to see it."
It was out! Ripped from him on the impulse. How could he take her
to see it, if they were not going to meet again after this? But he
had never determined that they were not to meet again; only that he
would not bring her to his rooms. It amounted to the same thing. He
was not the man to let his inclinations fool him. If they met, what
was there to keep him from bringing her here? Nothing! He knew he
would do it.
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