"What is this I hear about your wanting to leave us?" he said,
addressing Helene, who, with her mother, was seated on his left at
dinner that evening. "Have you really grown very tired of us all?"
The young lady laid down her knife and fork, and the unconscious
movement, combined with her unusual pallor, gave one the impression
that she was indeed very tired.
"No, Sir Peregrine, only of myself. I seem to be suffering from a
prolonged attack of spring fever. Don't you think home is the best
place for those who have the bad taste to be in poor health?"
"No doubt of it," replied the gentleman, at which she gave him a
grateful glance, thinking she had won an unexpected ally; "but," he
continued, "I hoped you would feel at home here."
Helene assured him that it was impossible for her to enjoy her visit
more than she was doing. As she made this perfectly sincere statement
her melancholy eyes by chance encountered the deep blue ones of her
unacknowledged lover. In their depths lurked an expression of absolute
relief. Could he then be glad to hear of their projected departure?
She hoped so.
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