"The poor young man!" sighed Angelina. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. Not entirely. ‘But lay him down. I will make your grandfather extend to you his protection, and his support. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. org/donate Section 5.
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