Her head rose. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. “Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. She thrust at him, following, almost spitting him as he crashed against the altar, rocking the huge candlesticks and the vessels that stood on it. To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s attention and she threw out a hand. One thing—he could be thankful for that—the peak of his misfortunes had been reached; the world might come to an end now and not matter in the least. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
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