"
"Nonsense, Graydon! You are always imagining things. I have youth,
good health, have had my supper--a trout supper, too--and I like to
dance, just as a bird enjoys flying."
"You seem a bird-of-paradise. Happy the man who coaxes you into his
cage! Brother or not, when your beaux become too attentive they will
find me a perfect dragon of a critic."
"When I meet my ideal, you shall have nothing to say."
"I suppose not. I am at a loss to know where you will find him."
"I shan't find him; he must find me."
"He will be an idiot if he doesn't. Pardon me if I don't dance any
more to-night. I have had a long tramp over mountain paths, followed
by a long, rough ride in a farmer's wagon, and now have a very
important act to perform before I sleep. As a proof of my fraternal--I
mean friendly--confidence, I will tell you what it is, if you wish."
"I don't propose to fail in any friendly obligations, Graydon,"
she replied, laughing, as they strolled out into the summer night,
followed by Miss Wildmere's half-desperate eyes.
As they walked down a path, Graydon said, "Take my arm; the pavement
is a little rough. Dear Madge, you look divine to night. Every time
I see you my wonder increases at what you accomplished out on the
Pacific coast.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414