He could see his mother's face, he could hear her voice saying, "And
so because of this sudden infatuation for a swindler's daughter, a
girl who runs about the roads with a couple of retrievers hunting
for a man, you must spoil all my plans, ruin my year, tell me a lot
of pretentious stuffy lies. . . ." And Mrs. Skelmersdale too would
say, "Of course he just talked of the world and duty and all that
rubbish to save my face. . . ."
It wasn't so at all.
But it looked so frightfully like it!
Couldn't they realize that he had fled out of London before ever he
had seen Amanda? They might be able to do it perhaps, but they
never would. It just happened that in the very moment when the
edifice of his noble resolutions had been ready, she had stepped
into it--out of nothingness and nowhere. She wasn't an accident;
that was just the point upon which they were bound to misjudge her;
she was an embodiment. If only he could show her to them as she had
first shown herself to him, swift, light, a little flushed from
running but not in the least out of breath, quick as a leopard upon
the dogs.
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