"Is it possible?" she exclaimed. "I did not know you were in the
theatre."
"Yes," he said, with moderation, "I have seen this--this damnable play."
"Damnable? Oh!----"
"It has caused me," he went on, "to regret the substance of my letter
this morning. I failed to realise that this was the kind of work you
devote your life to. I now see that you could not escape its malign
influence--that no woman could. I now think that the alternative that
has been revealed to you, of remaining in Calcutta, is a chance of
escape offered you by God himself. Take it. I withdraw my foolish,
ignorant opposition."
"Oh," she cried, "do you really think----"
"Take it," he repeated and closed the door.
Hilda sat still for some time after the servant had finished unlacing
her shoes. A little tender smile played oddly about her carmined lips.
"Dear heart," she said aloud, "I was going to."
CHAPTER XXIII.
"I would simply give anything to be there," Miss Livingstone said, with
a look of sincere desire.
"I should love to have you, but it isn't possible. You might meet men
you knew who had been invited by particular lady friends among the
company."
"Oh, well, that of course would be odious.
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