Then unlocking the drawer of the writing-desk at her elbow, she
took out Carrington's letter and handed it to Mr. Ratcliffe.
"Here is such an example which has come to my knowledge very
lately. I meant to show it to you in any case, but I would rather
have waited."
Ratcliffe took the letter which she handed to him, opened it
deliberately, looked at the signature, and read. He showed no sign
of surprise or disturbance. No one would have imagined that he
had, from the moment he saw Carrington's name, as precise a
knowledge of what was in this letter as though he had written it
himself. His first sensation was only one of anger that his projects
had miscarried. How this had happened he could not at once
understand, for the idea that Sybil could have a hand in it did not
occur to him. He had made up his mind that Sybil was a silly,
frivolous girl, who counted for nothing in her sister's actions. He
had fallen into the usual masculine blunder of mixing up smartness
of intelligence with strength of character. Sybil, without being a
metaphysician, willed anything which she willed at all with more
energy than her sister did, who was worn out with the effort of life.
Mr. Ratcliffe missed this point, and was left to wonder who it was
that had crossed his path, and how Carrington had managed to be
present and absent, to get a good office in Mexico and to baulk his
schemes in Washington, at the same time. He had not given
Carrington credit for so much cleverness.
Pages:
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259