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Updated: June 20, 2025
He missed Dolly as much as any of them did, but he missed her in a different manner. He did not call quite as often as he had been in the habit of doing, and when he did call he was more silent and less entertaining. Dolly had always had an inspiring effect upon him, and, lacking the influence of her presence, even Vagabondia lost something of its charm.
Then slowly his arms relaxed and he stood awkwardly staring, now thoroughly awake. She meant him to understand that Vagabondia was not that their week in Arcadia had never been. He gaped at her a full moment before he found speech. "You wish to deny that you and I that you were there with me in Normandy?" he stammered. "One only denies the possible, Mr. Markham," she said with a glib certitude.
"I shall not forget. We are always glad to see people in Vagabondia." And as the cab drove off, she waved the hand he had held in an airy gesture of adieu, gave him a bewildering farewell nod, and, withdrawing her face from the window, disappeared in the shadow within. "Great Jove!" meditated Ralph Gowan, when he had seen the last of her.
If personal appearance was to be relied upon, Miss MacDowlas was not a promising subject for diplomatic beguiling. "We have no need to depend upon her," was Dolly's mental decision. "One glimpse of life in Vagabondia would end poor Griffith's chances with her. I wonder what she would think if she could see Tod in all his glory when 'Toinette and Phil are busy painting."
He did not know whether Miss Challoner was in or not, but he would see. Markham sat and impatiently waited, his eyes meanwhile restlessly roving the splendor of the room in search of some object which would suggest Hermia mad Hermia of Vagabondia.
If we succeed in finding Donne I am sure that he will do the rest. Perhaps, next summer Vagabondia will be as bright as ever, nay, even brighter than it has been before." All his sympathies were enlisted, and, hopeless as the task seemed, he had determined to make strenuous efforts to trace this lost lover.
The Signora descended from the wagon, and with Hermia's help prepared the breakfast while Stella held the baby. By sunrise the gray horse was hitched to the shafts of the wagon, the bear hitched to its tail and the travelers were on their way the contents of one's valise is on one's back in Vagabondia.
Hermia paused and drank the air in gulps. "Vagabondia! You've opened its gates to me, John Markham." He looked around at her in amusement. "There are no gates in Vagabondia, Miss Challoner." "Miss Challoner!" she reproved him. "Hermia, then. Do you realize, you very mischievous young person, that this is precisely the fourth time that you and I have met?"
Even as she lay on her couch, too prostrate to either read or work, she made audacious satirical speeches, and told Miss MacDowlas stories of Vagabondia, just as she used to tell them to Grif himself, only that in these days she could not get up to flourish illustratively; and often after lying for an hour or so in a dead, heavy, exhausting day-sleep, she opened her eyes at last, to jest about her faithful discharge of her duties as companion.
In a very short time after his return he had awakened to a recognition of some mysterious shadow upon the household. Vagabondia had lost its spirits. Mrs. Phil and her husband were almost thoughtful; Tod disported himself unregarded and unadmired, comparatively speaking; Mollie seemed half frightened by the aspect affairs were wearing; and Aimee's wise, round face had an older look.
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