She had suggested so much--sometimes by her knowledge,
sometimes by her ignorance. And always so modest--so teachable--so
docile.
_Docile_? The word passing through his mind again, as it had in the
morning, roused in him mingled laughter and uneasiness. For outside
their classical work together, nothing indeed could be less docile
than Miss Bremerton. How she had withstood him in the matter of the
codicil! He could see her still, as she stood there with her hands
behind her, defying him. And that morning also, when she had spoken
her mind on the project of the gates.
Well, now, he had to go in and tell her that the deed was done, and
the park was closed.
He crept round to a side door, nervous lest she should perceive him
from the library, and made Forest get him some lunch. Then he hung
about the hall smoking. It was ridiculous--nonsensical--but he
admitted to himself that he shrank from facing her.
At last a third cigarette put the requisite courage into him, and he
walked slowly to the library.
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