That evening, in her own room, in a loose dressing-gown, and with her
hair hanging over her shoulders, Dora devoted herself to an earnest
consideration of her relations with Ralph Haverley. At first sight it
seemed odd that there should be any relations at all, for she had known
him but a short time, and he had made few or no advances toward her--not
half so many or such pronounced ones as other men had made, during her
few visits to fashionable resorts. But she settled this part of the
question very promptly.
"I like him better than anybody I have ever seen," she said to herself.
"In fact, I love him, and now--" and then she went on to consider the
rest of the matter, which was not so easy to settle.
Cicely Drane was terribly hard to settle. There was that girl,--all the
more dangerous because, being charming and little, a man would be more
apt to treat her as a good comrade than if she were charming and
tall,--who was with him all the time. And how she would be with him,
Dora's imagination readily perceived, because she knew how she herself
would be with him under the circumstances.
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