The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely.
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