She was in her cousin's power. She could not
modulate out the key of self-abasement in which she had started.
Neither of them referred again to her suggestion that she should
speak to George and settle the matter, whatever it was, with him.
Miss Bartlett became plaintive.
"Oh, for a real man! We are only two women, you and I. Mr. Beebe
is hopeless. There is Mr. Eager, but you do not trust him. Oh,
for your brother! He is young, but I know that his sister's
insult would rouse in him a very lion. Thank God, chivalry is not
yet dead. There are still left some men who can reverence woman."
As she spoke, she pulled off her rings, of which she wore
several, and ranged them upon the pin cushion. Then she blew into
her gloves and said:
"It will be a push to catch the morning train, but we must try."
"What train?"
"The train to Rome." She looked at her gloves critically.
The girl received the announcement as easily as it had been
given.
"When does the train to Rome go?"
"At eight.
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