About This Book
Do you desire me to marry him?" asked Miss Castle, quietly. "Let me finish," said her uncle. "Jane," he added, turning on his sister, "if you could avoid sneezing for a few moments, I should be indebted to you." Miss Jane Garcide, a sallow lady of forty, who suffered with colds all winter and hay-fever all summer, meekly left the room. Miss Castle herself leaned on the piano, tearing the pink petals from a half-withered rose, while her guardian, the Hon. John Garcide, finished what he had to say and pulled out his cigar-case with decision. "I have only to add," he said, "that James J. Crawford is one man in a million." Her youthful adoration of Garcide had changed within a few years to a sweet-tempered indifference. He was aware of this; he was anxious to learn whether the change had also affected her inherited passion for truthfulness. "Do you remember a promise you once made?" he inquired, lighting his cigar with care. "Yes," she said, calmly. "When was it?" "On my tenth birthday." He looked out of the heavily curtained window. "Of course you could not be held to such a promise," he remarked. "There is no need to hold me to it," she answered, flushing up.
