I think you ought to find some other way or let it go. Go home
instead; go straight to London and insist on your chance. After six
weeks you will have forgotten the name of his Order."
Hilda looked back with a smile. Her face was splendid with the dawn and
promise of success. "Don't blaspheme," she cried. Alicia, leaning down,
was visited by a flash of quotation. "Well," she said, "'nothing in this
life becomes you like the leaving of it,'" and went back to her room to
write to Laura Filbert in Plymouth. She wrote often to Miss Filbert, at
Duff's request. It gratified her that she was able, without a pang, to
address four pages of pleasantly colourless communication to Mr.
Lindsay's _fiancee_. Her letters stood for a medicine surprisingly easy
to take, aimed at the convalescence which she already anticipated in the
future immediately beyond Duff's miserable marriage. If that event had
promised fortuitously she would have faced it, one fancies, with less
sanguine anticipations for herself; but the black disaster that rode on
with it brought her certain aids to the spirit, certain hopes of
herself. Laura's prompt replies, with their terrible margins and
painstaking solecisms, came to be things Miss Livingstone looked forward
to.
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