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An' I knew, from a lot of it that he said, that he was thinkin' of that poem he wouldn't ask for wealth or beauty or fame, or anything, an' that there didn't anything count but labor. You see?" "Yes, I see." Miss Dorothy's voice was very low. Her face was turned quite away, yet Susan was very sure that there were tears in her eyes. "An' his father! he's 'most as bad as Keith," sighed Susan.
"Let me have it," said Ned, jerking the rope from Dorothy's grasp. Instinctively she held to it, and looked up in some astonishment at her cousin. A moment later Ned swayed toward her. She had released her hold of the rope, and the sudden easing of the strain which the youth put upon it caused him to lose his balance.
Cléopâtre and Le Grand Cyrus appear to have been Dorothy's literary companions at this date. She would read these in the original French; and, as she tells us somewhere, had a scorn of translations.
But these remarks had no effect on Tavia. "I believe," she began bravely, "that I was the real cause of the trouble. I did swing Sarah too high, I was angry about Memorial Day, and blamed her for taking Dorothy's place. I am very sorry." At that moment a man appeared at the door. It was Squire Sanders!
Peerages in Dorothy's style would perhaps be unprofitable writing. The "Emperor," as Dorothy calls him in writing to Temple, may feel thankful that his epitaph was in others hands than hers. He appears to have proposed to her more than once, and evidently had her brother's good offices, which I fear were not much in his favour with Dorothy.
An hour later he came downstairs, to find Mrs. Garrison and Dorothy alone. "You were very brave, Mr. Quentin, but very foolhardy," said Mrs. Garrison. "I hope from my heart the wound will give you little trouble." His good right hand closed over hers for an instant and then clasped Dorothy's warmly, lingeringly. "You must let us hear from you to-morrow," said she, softly.
"Tell her we will find out what it means," he answered kindly, drawing me rapidly away. By this time Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong were aroused, and I could hear the slow and hesitating tones of the former in the passage behind us. "Let us hasten," whispered Sinclair, "Our eyes must be the first to see what lies behind that partly-opened door." I shivered. The door he had designated was Dorothy's.
"Well, come in, an' I'll tell Mr. DANIEL Burton you're here." That the emphasis on "Daniel" was not lost was shown by the sudden broad smile that chased away the confusion on Miss Dorothy's face, as Susan led the way to the living-room. Two minutes later Daniel Burton, thinner, paler, and more worn-looking than Dorothy had ever seen him before, entered the room and held out a cordial hand.
Port went on keenly regretting the unfortunate beginning that he had given to his declaration of independence, but judiciously ignoring Dorothy's shrewd perversion of it "that your several suggestions literally are impossibilities.
He lighted a match and moodily burned Molly's letter to ashes in the fireplace. He also stirred the ashes up, for he was honourable in little things like Ricky and also, alas! apparently no novice. Dorothy's letter lay on the table her third since she had left for Paris. He opened his knife and split the envelope carefully, still thinking of Lorraine.
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