He
felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little
creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest
fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the
separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. One called her very distinctly “My dear!”
Two secretarial posts did indeed seem to offer themselves in which, at least,
there was no specific exclusion of womanhood; one was under a Radical
Member of Parliament, and the other under a Harley Street doctor, and both men
declined her proffered services with the utmost civility and admiration and
terror. You’ll need that. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. He was a
philosopher. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to
the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions.
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