At his pleasure he might fracture all of the
decalogue that was refinedly fracturable, and so long as he rescued his
social position intact from the ruin, he was her man just the same. But
she had an instinct, surer than reasoned wisdom, that Sharlee Weyland
viewed these matters differently. Therefore she had sent West to make
his little confession, face to face. And therefore West, after an hour
of delightful _tete-a-tete_ in the charming little back parlor,
stiffened himself up, his brow sicklying o'er with the pale cast of
disagreeable thought, and began to make it.
"I've got to tell you something about--a subject that won't be welcome
to you," he plunged in, rather lugubriously. "I mean--the reformatory."
Sharlee's face, which had been merry and sweet, instantly changed and
quieted at that word; interest sprang full-armed in her deep blue eyes.
"Have you? Tell me anything about it you wish."
"You remember that--last editorial in the _Post?_"
"Do you think that I forget so easily?"
West hardly liked that reply. Nor had he ever supposed that he would
find the subject so difficult.
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