"But I knew it would be all right.
You see, I--kind of like dogs."
He turned to her after a moment, a faintly quizzical expression about
his eyes.
"I won't intrude upon you," he said. "I can go and trespass elsewhere,
you know."
Priscilla was not as a rule reckless. A long training in her
stepmother's school had made her cautious and far-seeing in all things
social. She knew exactly the risk that lay in unconventionality. But,
then, had she not fled from town to lead a free life? Why should she
submit to the old, galling chain here in this golden world where its
restraint was not known? Her whole being rose up in revolt at the bare
idea, and suddenly, passionately, she decided to break free. Even the
flowers had their day of riotous, splendid life. She would have hers,
wherever its enjoyment might lead her, whatever it might cost!
And so she answered him with a lack of reserve at which her London
friends would have marvelled.
"You don't intrude at all. If you have come to see the Abbey, I should
advise you to wait till after six o'clock."
"When it will be closed to the public?" he questioned, still looking
quizzical.
She looked up at him, for the first time deliberately meeting his eyes.
Yes it was plain that he did not know her; but on the whole she was
glad, it made things easier. She had been so foolish and hysterical upon
that far-off day when he had saved her life.
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