“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. ‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed. “No, stay, Lucy. E. ” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent.
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