I met your chum at Harvard, Edward
Gerald at Geneva, and he drove with our party to Paris." Then, turning
to Mildred, "My mother is no better, is she? Dear, patient mother! I've
been away too long."
"She is no better," replied Mildred, gently, "but then she is no worse.
Mrs. Wainwright will be so happy when she has her middle girl by her
side again. She's never gloomy, though. It's wonderful."
They drove on silently. Mildred took keen notice of every detail of
Grace's dress--the blue cloth gown and jacket, simple but modish, with
an air no Highland dressmaker could achieve, for who on earth out of
Paris can make anything so perfect as a Paris gown, in which a pretty
girl is sure to look like a dream? The little toque on the small head
was perched over braids of smooth brown hair, the gloves and boots were
well-fitting, and Grace Wainwright carried herself finely. This was a
girl who could walk ten miles on a stretch, ride a wheel or a horse at
pleasure, drive, play tennis or golf, or do whatever else a girl of the
period can. She was both strong and lovely, one saw that.
What could she do besides? Mildred, with the reins lying loosely over
old Whitefoot's back, thought and wondered. There was opportunity for
much at the Brae.
Lawrence and Grace chatted eagerly as the old pony climbed hills and
descended valleys, till at last he paused at a rise in the path, then
went on, and there, the ground dipping down like the sides of a cup, in
the hollow at the bottom lay the straggling village.
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