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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

She was in
her night-dress and nothing more, and even this garment was not
sufficiently fastened; her black hair was tumbling loose about her
shoulders, and she pattered here and there across the stone floor on
her bare feet.
He began to chide her, rather irritably. "You little fool, do you want
to catch a chill as well--so's to make two invalids instead of one?
Here, put on my jacket."
"Oh, no, Mr. Dale."
"Do as I tell you. Besides, it--well, it isn't seemly to be running
about half naked."
Norah flushed red in the candle-light, and clutched at her
night-dress. Then she hastily put on Dale's jacket, which swamped her,
going far down below her hips and making her seem a wonderfully
strange figure.
Next morning, when she was bringing him his breakfast, he talked to
her of what had "passed a few hours ago."
"Norah, my dear, I'm sorry I spoke sharply to you--just when you were
doing all that you possibly could for us. But, you know, I didn't mean
it a bit unkind."
"Oh, no, sir," said Norah, shyly.
It's only that I'm always a stickler for etiquette--and that sort of
thing. I do so like what I call seemly conduct."
"Yes, sir. I was ashamed the moment you spoke;" and Norah blushed
again.


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