He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. He stood still, almost breathless. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. " "Oh, dear! how I should like to see him. She could hear the raucous laughter and bad music below. Life is so good. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded.
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