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Updated: May 10, 2025
"Céline Leroque, at your service; maid-in-waiting to Miss Arthur, of Oakley." Doctor Vaughan laughed. "Well, won't you shake hands with an American of no special importance, Céline Leroque?" She placed her hand in his and then drew forward a chair. "I hope you found no difficulty in getting out to-night?" he said, sitting down and looking at her with a half-amused, half-grave countenance.
"Ho! hi! hallo! I smells a smell!" They lifted their three heads simultaneously and beheld the outlaw sitting calmly beside the fire roasting steaks. For the first time the mysterious stranger smiled and it was a peculiarly sweet half-grave sort of attractive smile, as far removed from the fiendish grin of the stage bandit as night is from day.
In another moment, the bachelor himself stood in the doorway regarding the charming picture with his half-humorous, half-grave expression. "There were only three Graces, were there not?" he asked. "I've forgotten. It's been so long since I met them. But there should have been four." "And why not five, since you are adding to the number," asked Mary.
He grew on, with the purpose accepted but not discussed, except from time to time a half-playful, half-grave reference to himself as a future clergyman. Reverence was strongly implanted in him. It appears to have been the first strongly traceable feature in him, and to have gradually subdued his faults one by one.
Nothing, however, amused him more than Louise and all her "properties," as well as the great care which, with a half-comic, half-grave earnestness, she took of them; but he declared solemnly that he would disclaim all relationship with her if ever he should see her wearing a certain pale green shawl, called jokingly "spinage," and a pale grey dress, with the surname of "water-gruel."
He could not help laughing at the droll way she made the statement. "Well, what does thrive?" "Silence," thoughtfully. "But that did not appeal to you?" with significance. "Not perhaps so much as the growl," was her enigmatic reply. "And did you like this wild, wilderness land of silence?" She regarded him with half-grave, half-mocking eyes.
George would steal an hour or two, and saddle his horse to take Polly for a gallop over the hills, through the cañons, or on the beach. His half-grave, half-cheery talks on these rides did her much good. He sympathized and understood and helped, even when he chided, and Polly sometimes forgot her own troubles in wondering whether Dr. George had not suffered and overcome a good many of his own.
Christie could not help laughing at the half-grave, half-comic way in which this was spoken. "It must be very pleasant to be a belle, however," continued Gertrude, meditatively, "to have all eyes fixed on you in admiration, and to eclipse all the rest of the stars." "But that doesn't often happen, except in books, I fancy," said Christie. "Well, I suppose not. It couldn't happen very often.
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