She certainly was very pretty.
From the crown of her dark little head to the narrow rosetted
slippers that had been idly tapping the ground, but now seemed to
press it more proudly, with arched insteps and small ankles, she
was pleasant to look upon.
"But you surely have something else to think about, Miss Yerba?"
said the young man, with conviction. "In a few months you will be
of age, and rid of those dreadfully stupid guardians; with your"--
The loosened rose-spray flew from her hand out of the window as she
made a gesture, half real, half assumed, of imploring supplication.
"Oh, please, Mr. Hathaway, for Heaven's sake don't YOU begin too!
You are going to say that, with my wealth, my accomplishments, my
beauty, my friends, what more can I want? What do I care about a
secret that can neither add to them nor take them away? Yes, you
were! It's the regular thing to say--everybody says it. Why, I
should have thought 'the youngest senator' could afford to have
been more original."
"I plead guilty to ALL the weaknesses of humanity," said Paul,
warmly, again beginning to believe that he had been most unjust to
her independence.
"Well, I forgive you, because you have forgotten to say that, if I
don't like the name of Yerba Buena, I could SO easily change that
too.
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