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Updated: May 19, 2025
Mary Leithe bore some personal resemblance to her mother; but had she been as like her in character and disposition as she was in figure and feature, would Drayton, knowing what he knew, have felt drawn toward her? A man does not remain for twenty years under the influence of an unreasonable and mistaken passion.
"You don't seem very happy, though," pursued Redmond, after a pause; "and you acted so oddly when I first found you and Mr. Drayton together I almost thought well, I didn't know what to think. You do love me, don't you?" For a few moments Mary Leithe sat quite motionless, save for a slight tremor of the nerves that pervaded her whole body; and then, all at once, she melted into sobs.
But Miss Mary here, very different style, looks like her mother, but softer; more in her, too. Very little money, poor girl, but charming. Oh! you must know her." "What did you say her mother's maiden name was?" "Maiden name? Let me see. Why oh, no oh, yes Cleveland, Mary Cleveland." "Mary Cleveland, of Boston; married Hamilton Leithe, about nineteen years ago. I used to know the lady.
Drayton certainly had not, although his disappointment had kept him a bachelor all his life, and altered the whole course of his existence. But when we have once embarked upon a certain career, we continue in it long after the motive which started us has been forgotten. No; Drayton's regard for Mary Leithe must stand on its own basis, independent of all other considerations.
But the next morning, as Mary Leithe sat on the Bowlder Rock, with a book on her lap, and her eyes on the bathers, and her thoughts elsewhere, she heard a light, leisurely tread behind her, and a gentlemanly, effective figure made its appearance, carrying a malacca walking-stick, and a small telescope in a leather case slung over the shoulder.
"Are you married, too?" she asked at length. "I was cut out for an old bachelor, and I have been true to my destiny," was his reply. "Besides, I've lived abroad till a month or two ago, and good Americans don't marry foreign wives." "I should like to go abroad," said Mary Leithe. "It is the privilege of Americans," said Drayton.
Leithe a woman not easily influenced immensely charming, though, and all that, but a trifle narrow and set. Well, you know, it was this way: Leithe was an immensely wealthy man when she married him; lost his money, struggled along, good deal of friction; Mrs. Leithe probably felt she had made a mistake, and that sort of thing.
Your mother was a fool not to have married him. I wish you could have married him yourself. But it was not to be expected that he would care for a child like you, even if your head were not turned by that Frank Redmond. How soon shall you let him marry you?" "Whenever he likes," answered Mary Leithe, turning away. As a matter of fact, they were married the following winter.
"The life of the heart is love," said Drayton. "And that lasts forever," said Mary Leithe. "True love lasts, but the object changes," was his reply. "It seems to change sometimes," said she. "But I think it is only our perception that is misled. We think we have found what we love; but afterward, perhaps, we find it was not in the person we supposed, but in some other.
I wonder whether Mary is alive and mother of a dozen children, or not!" "Auntie," said Miss Leithe to her relative, as they regained the veranda of their cottage after their morning stroll on the beach, "who was that gentleman who looked at us?" "Hey? who?" inquired the widow of the late Mr. Corwin, absently. "The one in the thin gray suit and Panama hat; you must have seen him.
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