" "Oh, no!" Ruth protested. Entranced, he stared at the name. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness.
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