"
"Henry and I understand each other. He thinks I'm sensible, and I
certainly think he is. Good-night, now, dear. It's after twelve, and I
wish you a merry Fourth of July; I mean to have one."
Graydon had not found himself in a sleeping mood until the shadows of
night were almost ready to depart, and so came down very late. Mrs.
Wildmere, who was on the piazza with her child, informed him, with a
deprecatory smile, that Stella had gone to drive with Mr. Arnault. He
bit his lip, and went to make a leisurely breakfast. By the time he
had finished, Madge came in with a party of young people who had been
on a ramble. Her greeting was friendly, but nothing more, and having
received a long letter from Mrs. Wayland, she took it to a small
summer-house. Graydon soon strayed after her in a listless way, and in
no very amiable humor. The greater anxiety had swallowed up the less,
and his perturbed thoughts about Madge were now following a light
carriage on some wild mountain road. His generous glow of feeling of
the night before had passed somewhat, and he was inclined to think
that Miss Wildmere's relations to Arnault, whatever they were, placed
him, a committed lover, in a rather anomalous position.
Pages:
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221