spirit.

"Forgave him? But after just the first, when, I had time to at all think
of it," Damaris answered with rather desperate bravery, "I couldn't see
there was anything for me to forgive. It was the other way about. For
haven't I so much which he might very well feel belonged, or should have
belonged, to him?"

"You cut deep, my dear," Sir Charles said quietly.

Still holding back the curtain with one hand, Damaris flung herself
over upon her face. She would not give way, she would not cry, but her
soul was in travail. These words, as coming from her father, were
anguish to her. She could look at him no longer, and lying outstretched
thus, the lines of her gracious body, moulded by the embroidered linen
quilt, quivered from head to heel. Still that travail of soul should
bring forth fruit. She would not give in, cost what anguish it might,
till all was said.

"I only want to do what is right," she cried, her voice half stifled by
the pillows. "You know, surely you know, how I love you, Commissioner
Sahib, from morning till night and round till morning again, always and
above all, ever since I can first remember. But this is different to
anything that has ever happened to me before, and it wouldn't be right
not to speak about it. It would be there all the time, and it would
creep in between us--between you and me--and interfere in all my
thinking about you."

"It may very well do that in any case, my dear," he said.

"No--no," Damaris answered hotly, "not if I do right now--right by both.
For you must not entertain wrong ideas about him--about Captain Faircloth
I mean. You must not suppose he said a word about my having what might,
or ought to be his. He couldn't do so. He isn't the least that sort of
person. He took pains to make me understand--I couldn't think why at
first, it seemed a little like boasting--that he is quite well off and
that he's very proud of his profession. He doesn't want anything
from--from us. Oh! no," she cried, "no."

And, in her excitement, Damaris raised herself, from the small of her
back, resting on her elbows, sphinx-like in posture, her hands and
arms--from the elbows--stretched out in front of her across the pillows.
Her face was flushed, her eyes blazed. There was storm and vehemence in
her young beauty.

"No--he's too much like you, you yourself, Commissioner Sahib, to want
anything, to accept anything from other people. He means to act for
himself, and make people and th