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He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. He was heartily thankful for it. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. \"I don't want to hurt you.
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