Not only had she wronged Grace
Roseberry--she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she deceive him as
she had deceived the others? Could she meanly accept that
implicit trust, that devoted belief? Never had she felt the base
submissions which her own imposture condemned her to undergo with
a loathing of them so overwhelming as the loathing that she felt
now. In horror of herself, she turned her head aside in silence
and shrank from meeting his eye. He noticed the movement, placing
his own interpretation on it. Advancing closer, he asked
anxiously if he had offended her.
"You don't know how your confidence touches me," she said,
without looking up. "You little think how keenly I feel your
kindness."
She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned her that she
was speaking too warmly--that the expression of her gratitude
might strike him as being strangely exaggerated. She handed him
her work-basket before he could speak again.
"Will you put it away for me?" she asked, in her quieter tones.
"I don't feel able to work just now."
His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed the
basket on a side-table. In that moment her mind advanced at a
bound from present to future.
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