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Gregory, Jackson, 1882-1943

"The Bells of San Juan"


She saw in him both the man and the gentleman. Her anger had died down
long ago, smothered in the ashes of her distress; now she summoned to
the fore all that she might in extenuation of what he did. She did not
blame him for the crimes which she knew he had committed because she
was so confident that the chief crime of all had been the act resulting
from Caleb Patten's abysmal ignorance. Nor now could she blame Norton
that, embarked upon this flood of his life, he saw himself forced to
make her his prisoner for a few hours. It was a man's birthright to
protect himself, to guard his freedom. And her heart gave him high
praise that toward her he acted with all deference, that with things as
they were, while he was man enough to hold her here, he was too much
the gentleman to make love to her. Would she have resisted, would she
have opposed calm argument against a hot avowal? She did not know.
"Virginia," he said gravely as he slumped down upon the far side of the
fire, "I feel the brute. But . . ."
Yes, she had decided, fully decided, whether if be for better or for
worse. Now she surprised him with one of her quick, bright, friendly
smiles while she interrupted:
"Let us make the best of a bad situation," she said swiftly. "I am not
unhappy right now; I have no wish to run half-way to meet any
unhappiness which may be coming our way.


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