They are so chivalrous that at times they
get tiresome. Breen is no better than the rest of them." This had
ended it with Miss Felicia. Nor would she ever mention his name to
her again. Jack was not tiresome; on the contrary, he was the soul
of honor and as brave as he could be--a conclusion quite as
illogical as that of her would-be adviser.
If she could only have seen Peter, the poor child thought,--Peter
understood--just as some women not as old as her aunt would have
understood. Dear Uncle Peter! He had told her once what Jack had
said about her--how beautiful he thought her and how he loved her
devotion to her father. Jack MUST have said it, for Uncle Peter
never spoke anything but the exact truth. Then why had Jack, and
everything else, changed so cruelly? she would say--talking to
herself, sometimes aloud. For the ring had gone from his voice and
the tenderness from his touch. Not that he ever was tender, not
that she wanted him to be, for that matter; and then she would
shut her door and throw herself on her bed in an agony of tears--
pleading a headache or fatigue that she might escape her father's
inquiry, and often his anxious glance.
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