At any rate, she
determined to show no weakness. If Graydon would never love her he
should at least be compelled to respect and admire her, and he should
never have cause to surmise the heart-poverty to which she was doomed.
Still less would she give her proud rival a chance to wound her again.
Miss Wildmere might make Graydon's devotion as ostentatious as she
pleased, but should never again detect on Madge's face a look of
pained surprise and solicitude.
She made a careful toilet for the evening, telling Mr. Muir and her
sister not to wait for her, as she had overslept herself.
"Where is Madge?" Graydon asked, at the supper-table.
"She did not wake up in time to come down with us," Mrs. Muir replied.
"What does it matter? Miss Wildmere so fills your eyes that you see no
one else. When is it to be, Graydon?"
"Madge evidently sees quite as much of me as she cares to," he
replied, somewhat irritably. "I have not asked when it's to be or
whether it's to be at all. I suppose," he added, satirically, "that in
consideration of my extreme youth I should obtain permission from my
family before venturing to ask anything."
"That remark is absurd and uncalled for," Mr. Muir replied, gravely.
"Of course you will please yourself, as I did, and we shall make the
best of it.
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