to Carew. "I am desperately disappointed. I feel like a peri outside the gates of Paradise. But I can't desert Uncle Buck."
Sally's eyes were stormy, "It is Hildegarde who would make it Paradise," she said to the doll, Sarah, who lay among the cushions of the couch, "it is I who am shut out."
It was still raining, and as she stood looking out of the window with Merry's letter in her hand, the dreariness of the day entered into Sally's soul, so that she seemed lost forever to youth and gayety.
Then suddenly, she found herself on her knees beside the couch, with her arms flung out across it. "Oh, good Lord deliver me," she whispered with a sobbing breath, "I'm afraid . . . all by myself . . . and nobody . . . cares. . . ."
