She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. Besides, she will do no such thing.
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