Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation.
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