"If I were a man," was the placid conclusion offered by Cicily, "I suppose I'd sit still, and do nothing, like you.
But I'm not a man, thank Heaven! The only pity is, you won't take my perfectly good advice.
"Your advice—oh, the devil!" Hamilton sprang from his chair. His face was distraught, as he stood for a moment staring in baffled anger at his wife, who still held her eyes meditatively content on the ceiling.
He clenched his hands fiercely, and shook them in impotent fury. "Your advice!" he repeated, in a voice that was nigh moaning.
Then, he whirled about, and strode from the room, trampling heavily.
Cicily listened until she heard the door of the library slam noisily. In the interval, she retained her attitude of consummate ease. But, with the sound of the closing door, she was suddenly metamorphosed.
Her eyes drooped wearily. She cowered within the chair as one stricken with a vertigo. The slender hands unclasped from behind her head, and shut themselves over her face.
Her form was bowed together, and shaken violently. There came the sound of muffled sobs………………
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