Furiously, she dashed his hands away. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. I ought to have gone long ago. 2. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly.
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