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Behind the Arras

           ShedidnotlovetheLieutenantashelovedherbyanymeans,andsomehowthisdiscoveryconcerninghermothershamedherpride,suggestinganobligationtosaveherselfinoneformoranother,whichsheresentedbitterly.Shewassorryforhistactlessproposalatthistime,althoughsheknewwellenoughtheinnocenceandvirtueoftheemotionfromwhichitsprung.

           "Really,Mr.Braxmar,"shereplied,turningonhimwithsolemneyes,youmustn’taskmetodecidethatnow.Iknowhowyoufeel.I’mafraid,though,thatImayhavebeenalittlemisleadinginmymanner.Ididn’tmeantobe.I’mquitesureyou’dbetterforgetyourinterestinmeforthepresentanyhow.Icouldonlymakeupmymindinonewayifyoushouldinsist.Ishouldhavetoaskyoutoforgetmeentirely.IwonderifyoucanseehowIfeelhowithurtsmetosaythis?"

           Shepaused,perfectlypoised,yetquitemovedreally,ascharmingafigureasonewouldhavewishedtoseepartGreek,partOrientalcontemplative,calculating.

           Inthatmoment,forthefirsttime,Braxmarrealizedthathewastalkingtosomeonewhomhecouldnotcomprehendreally.Shewasstrangelyself-contained,enigmatic,morebeautifulperhapsbecausemoreremotethanhehadeverseenherbefore.InastrangeflashthisyoungAmericansawtheislesofGreece,Cytherea,thelostAtlantis,Cyprus,anditsPaphianshrine.Hiseyesburnedwithastrange,comprehendingluster;hiscolor,atfirsthigh,wentpale.

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