WHITEWASH
looked into her eyes. What he saw there stung through him like an electric shock.
"Oh, sweetheart! sweetheart!" he murmured, kissing her on her uplifted, unresisting mouth. "Why did you play with me so long?"
There was silence in the little boudoir. Then she disengaged herself from his enfolding arm and looked at him fondly. She pushed back his heavy brown hair, and fingered his cravat, as a child takes possession of a strange new toy.
"Morton," she said, in a very low voice, "I—I—don't want to announce it, dear. Aunt Lucy has her heart set on my marrying cousin Gabe, and she's been so good to me—I want to win her over to you without giving her annoyance. You understand, dear?"
"I hate the deceit of it," he answered, after a moment's uncomfortable silence. Her instant desire for concealment hurt him. Philippa looked pained. He felt like a blundering bore, and quickly added, "But it's just like you to feel that way about your aunt, and I love you for it."
She cuddled close to him, holding his hand in both hers and twisting his plain gold seal as if
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