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"The Second Latchkey"

Sometimes, if he were within
reach, she ran to find Knight, and hugged him almost fiercely, with a
passion that surprised herself.
"I'm so happy; that's all," she would explain, if he asked "What has
happened?" "My soul was buried. You've brought it back to life."
When she said such things Knight smiled, and seemed glad. He would hold
her to him for a minute, or kiss her hand, like an humble squire with a
princess. But now and then he looked at her with a wistfulness that was
like a question she could not hear because she was deaf. She never got
any satisfaction, though, if she asked what the look meant.
"Oh, I don't know. I was only thinking of you," he would answer, or some
other words of lover-language.
The Annesley-Setons' first move on the social chessboard was to make use
of a pawn or two in the shape of "society reporters." They knew a few men
and women of good birth and no money who lived by writing anonymously for
the newspapers. These people were delighted to get material for a
paragraph, or photographs for their editors. Connie took her new cousin
to the woman photographer who was the success of the moment; and, as she
said to Knight, "the rest managed itself.


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