"You can't stay here."
"I must--for a while. No. Don't talk about it, please, Tunis." Her
gesture had a finality to it which silenced the objections rising to
his lips. "Nothing you can say will change my determination. And you
must not come here again."
"What will people say?" he gasped.
The violet eyes blazed suddenly while she surveyed him. This was not
the girl he had known before. At least, she was not the same as
when he had seen her last. Even at that previous interview her look
and manner had not so reminded him of the girl he had sat beside on
the bench on Boston Common.
She was alone again. The flower of her nature that had expanded
while she lived her all too brief and happy life with the Balls was
now withered. She was hopeless again; she had become once more the
Sheila Macklin that he had met under such wretched circumstances at
that past time. But in spite of her helplessness and her
wretchedness, there was something in the girl's expression which
convinced Tunis Latham before he again spoke that nothing he could
say would in any degree change her determination.
"That confounded girl never should have been allowed to come back to
the house up there," he cried almost wildly.
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