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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"

She wasn't quite sure that I was not
referring to the old affair.
"If the story is one I never heard before," suspiciously, "I should
like to hear it."
"And does it not occur to you," throwing back the robes so that she
might step into the victoria, "that fate has a special grudge against
me? Once was not enough, but it must be twice."
"And she does not love you? Are you quite sure? You poor fellow!" She
squeezed my hand kindly. "Shall I be candid with you?" with the
faintest flicker of coquetry in her smile.
"As in the old days," said I, glancing over my shoulder to see now near
the others were. A groom is never to be considered. "Yes, as in the
old days."
"Well, I have often regretted that I did not accept you as an
experiment."
Then I knew that she did not understand.
"You must not think I am jesting," said I, seriously. "The story is of
the bitter-sweet kind. The heroine loves me, but cannot be mine."
"Loves you?" with a slight start. "How do you know?"
"She has told me so," lowering my voice.
Frankness of this sort to a woman who has rejected you has a peculiar
effect.


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