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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"


To her surprise, Travers made no mention of the subject she dreaded.
He took her hand in his, and led her into the shady drawing-room. She
made no attempt to protest, nor did she offer him any formal greeting.
She was oppressed and hypnotized by the conviction that a crisis was
about to break over her head which no power of hers could avert. He
did not let her hand go. He still held it between his own as they
stood opposite each other, and she felt that he was trembling.
"Lois," he said, "Lois, don't think me mad. There are limits to a
man's endurance. I have held out so long that I can hold out no
longer. I have come because I must speak to you alone. Will you let
me?"
She knew now what was coming, and she made a gentle effort to free
herself.
"Mr. Travers, will you think me very conceited if I say that I know
what you have come to tell me?" she said, with an earnestness which
did not conceal her anxiety. "Will you forgive me if I ask you not to
tell me? It would be hard to have to spoil our friendship. It has been
a great deal to me."
"Does that mean that you don't care?"
"I did not say that. As proof that I do care I will give you my whole
confidence, I will be absolutely honest with you. Will you think me
very low-spirited if I tell you that a man still holds a place in my
life--a man who cares nothing for me? I ought to forget him--my pride
should make it possible, and yet I can not, and somehow I do not think
I ever shall.


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