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 threw her conversationally out of her stride. She had often indulged in such discussion with the stronger sex—always vowing that she was destined to the arts, the gentleman protesting that such charms as hers would never be permitted to fade in spinsterhood. Professor Ripley merely sighed: 'It will all depend on what you want of life, Miss Bardeen; if a career, I doubt if it can be very well combined with matrimony. Although Mrs. Stowe and George Eliot and certain others seem to make a success of it.'

Some instinct stirred within her. She drew in her breath suddenly, caught her lower lip between her teeth, shut her eyes.

'Oh, Mr. Ripley, it is suffocating—this fog. I feel dizzy—faint.'

But before the gentleman could offer the appropriate support of his muscular right arm, she had leaped up, swathed herself in her black shawl with an inimitable Spanish gesture, and floated off towards the pathway. Her better nature had reasserted itself before her lower had really landed her in those manly, and seemingly uneager, arms.

Sears Ripley, slightly astonished, strode after. Lanice, casting a backward glance over him, had a sudden flattering conviction that if she had followed her first instinct she would then and there have had the painful duty of giving him her 'no.' Now her pride made her even refuse the assistance of her escort's arm. He was very solicitous. 'But I am quite all right. I think the fog was especially heavy over the Hurlers. Now I feel infinitely well...See!'