Brindley, ``unless she happens to be in love with
another man.'' She was observing the unconscious Mildred
narrowly, a state of inward tension and excitement
hinted in her face, but not in her voice.
``That's just it?'' said Mildred, her face carefully
averted. ``I--I happen to be in love with another
man.''
A spasm of pain crossed Cyrilla's face.
``A man who cares nothing about me--and never
will. He's just a friend--so much the friend that he
couldn't possibly think of me as--as a woman, needing
him and wanting him''--her eyes were on fire now, and
a soft glow had come into her cheeks--``and never
daring to show it because if I did he would fly and never
let me see him again.''
Cyrilla Brindley's face was tragic as she looked at
the beautiful girl, so gracefully adjusted to the big
chair. She sighed covertly. ``You are lovely,'' she
said, ``and young--above all, young.''
``This man is peculiar,'' replied Mildred forlornly.
``Anyhow, he doesn't want ME. He knows me for the
futile, weak, worthless creature I am.
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