Before he was conscious
of flagging in his step, she said, quietly, "You are growing tired,
Graydon. Suppose we return to the piazza."
"Yes," he said, a trifle bitterly, "you are the stronger now. The
'little ghost' has vanished utterly."
"A woman is better than a ghost," was her reply.
He and Miss Wildmere strolled away down the same path on which Madge
had told him that she could not be his sister. Mr. Muir was tired,
and went to his room in no very amiable humor. Mrs. Muir waited for
Graydon's return, feeling that, although the office of chaperon had in
a sense been forced upon her, she could not depart without seeing Miss
Wildmere again. The young lady at last appeared, and, believing that
she had made all the points she cared for that night, did not tax Mrs.
Muir's patience beyond a few moments. While she lingered she looked
curiously at Madge, who was going through a Virginia reel as if she
fully shared in the decided and almost romping spirit with which it
was danced. She was uncertain whether or not she saw a possible
rival in Graydon's thoughts, but she knew well that she had found
a competitor for sovereignty in all social circles where they might
appear together. This fact in itself was sufficient to secure the
arrogant girl's ill-will and jealousy.
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