“You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. Unless it was a jewel or locket of some kind. Sindlesham tried. ’ Melusine threw her hands in the air. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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