He
longed to dare, and yet he had never dared. He longed to take risks, and
yet he studied every step of the road. He longed to be unconventional,
and yet he would have died rather than wear a red flower in his
buttonhole. The thought of Patty rushed over him like the wind at dawn
or the light of the sunrise. There was deliverance; there was freedom of
spirit! She was the impulse he dared not follow, the risk he dared not
take, the red flower he dared not wear.
"What lovely eyes Miss Vetch has," Margaret was saying. "Don't you think
so, Cousin Harriet?"
Mrs. Culpeper sniffed at her bottle of smelling-salts. "She seemed to
me very ordinary," she answered stiffly. "How could Gideon Vetch's
daughter be anything else?"
"Yes, it's a pity about her father," admitted Margaret placidly. "If
what Mr. Benham thinks is true, I suppose the Governor has agreed not to
interfere in this dreadful strike."
Again Mrs. Culpeper sniffed. "Every one knows he is merely a tool in the
hands of those people," she said.
Pages:
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371