"Oh, I can't indeed. Why,
I haven't played for ages,--not since I was at school. Besides--"
"How old are you?" he cut in.
"Nearly twenty," she told him. "But--"
He brought his hand down sharply on her shoulder. "I shall never call
you Miss Roscoe again. You obtained my veneration on false pretences,
and you have lost it for ever. Now look here, Muriel!" Arrived at the
top of the stairs, he stood still and confronted her with that smile
of his that so marvellously softened his rugged face. "I am thirty
years older than you are, and I haven't lived for any part of
them with my eyes shut. I've been wanting to give you some
advice--medical advice--for a long time. But you wouldn't have it. And
now I'm not going to offer it to you. You shall take the advice of a
friend instead. You join Olga's hockey team, and go paper-chasing with
her too. The monkey is a rare sportswoman. She'll give you a good run
for your money. Besides, she has set her heart on having you, and
she is a young woman that likes her own way, though, to be sure, she
doesn't always get it. Come, you can't refuse when a friend asks you."
It was difficult, certainly, but Muriel plainly desired to do so. She
had escaped from the whirling vortex of life with strenuous effort,
and dragged herself bruised and aching to the bank.
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