"You are indeed Cheiron, Master," she said--and then her eyes widened
and she looked into the glowing ashes. "And you have one pupil, who,
like Heracles in his fight with the Centaurs, has accidentally wounded
you. But I want you not to let the poison of the arrow grow in your
blood; the wound is not incurable as his was. Master, why do you never
speak to me now of Mr. Derringham?"
Cheiron frowned. One of his eyebrows had grown in later years at least
an inch long and seemed to bristle ready for battle when he was angry.
"I think he has behaved as no gentleman should," he growled, "and I
would rather not mention him."
"You know of things perhaps with which I am not acquainted," said
Halcyone, "but from my point of view, there is nothing to judge him for.
Whatever he may have done in becoming engaged to marry this
lady--because she is rich--we do not know the forces that were
compelling him. It hurts me, Cheiron, that you take so stern a view--it
hurts me, Master."
Mr. Carlyon put out his hand and stroked her soft hair as she sat there
on a low stool looking up at him.
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