She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She was asked to meet him after his game Saturday afternoon. He had chosen his time well. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. Jack had well-nigh fallen too.
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