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With what wistful look did be eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path!
When they reached the tree, they spread out and joining hands went skipping, still viva voce, around the seniors who watched them, silent and smiling. The air was sweet with the cool, spicy breath of spruces. Lila thought that she could even smell the roses in the garden beyond the evergreens. She lifted her face toward the soft evening sky, and her mouth grew wistful.
Luigi hesitated, his hand upon the door, wistful wishes in his face; then he cast a smiling, deprecating glance at the mother, lightly crossed the floor, was over the sill, and stood beside Eve in the walk.
For a long time Jack stood watching Miss Gladden, as, having thanked him for the interview, she walked slowly up the winding road. His eyes grew strangely wistful and tender, very unlike their ordinary expression, and a smile, sad but sweet, played about the usually stern lips.
He smiled with wistful humour. "Men more worthy than I have done the same," he said. "Oh, but you, my own preux chevalier!" Chris's voice trembled upon the words. He made a quick, restraining gesture. "But no not that!" he said. "Your friend always, petite, but your preux chevalier never again!" Chris smiled, with quivering lips.
There was a wistful look in her face timidity, self-depreciation, worship as Henderson rose and stood near her, and she looked up while he took the broken flower from her hand. There was but one answer to this, and in spite of the open piazza and the all-observant, all-revealing day, it might have been given; but at the moment Miss Forsythe was seen hurrying towards them through the shrubbery.
Richard marched hastily out of the room, and through the garden, never so much as deigning a glance at his wistful little guide, who hung at the garden gate to watch him up the lane, wondering a world of fancies about the handsome proud boy.
Then the flashing changed to a long, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope and trust. "I'll try to live," she said. The broken whisper just reached his ears. "Do what you want with me." "Rest then don't worry sleep," he replied.
His feeling of relief unsealed his lips, and led him into an indiscretion. "It seems incredible that she can be guilty." As he spoke the memory of Sisily's tender and wistful face, as he had seen it that night, came back to him. "She had some justification, you know, if she was listening at the door that afternoon," replied Barrant thoughtfully.
"Will it live as long as I shall?" asked the plaintive voice. There was no answer, but Violet saw that the mother's hands shook as they busied themselves with the flower. "I hope it will," the voice continued, with a sort of wistful eagerness, "for it is such a pleasure to me to watch it.
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