I wish I could get away; I wish I could go anywhere--if I could
run away--I have a voice, I could sing, I could make money
enough to live upon. I think I should have done so, Monsieur
Horace, if I had not known you were coming home. Yes, if I
could run away somewhere, where I could breathe--be free----"
"You must never do that," cried Graham hastily--he was standing
opposite to her now, with his back to the fire; "you don't
know what you are saying, Madelon. Promise me that you will
not think of it even."
"I was talking nonsense, I don't suppose I meant it really,"
she answered; "I could not do it, you know; but I promise all
the same, as you wish it."
"And you always keep your promises, I know," said Graham,
smiling at her.
"Ah, do not," she cried, suddenly covering her face with her
hands, "don't speak of that, Monsieur Horace--I know now--ah,
yes, I understand what you must have thought--but I did not
then; indeed I was only a child then, I did not know what I
was doing."
"I don't think you are much more than a child now," said
Graham, taking one of her hands in his; "you are not much
altered, after all, Madelon.
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