"Who can she be?" he thought, and a thrill of unwonted admiration
ran through his veins as Edith raised for a moment her large eyes
of midnight blackness, and from his hiding-place he saw how soft
and mild they were in their expression, "Can Grace have spirited
to her retreat some fair nymph for company? Hark! I hear her
voice, and now for the solution of the mystery."
Standing back a little further, so as to escape observation, the
young man waited till Grace Atherton came near.
"Here you are," she said, "poring over a book as usual. I should
suppose you'd had enough of that to do in reading to Mr.
Harrington--German Philosophy, too! Will wonders never cease?
Arthur was right, I declare, when he dubbed you Metaphysics!"
"Edith Hastings!" The young man said it beneath his breath, while
he involuntarily made a motion forward.
"Can it be possible, and yet now that I know it, I see the little
black-eyed elf in every feature. Well may the blind man be proud
of his protege. She might grace the saloons of Versailles, and
rival the Empress herself!"
Thus far he had soliloquised, when something Grace was saying
caught his ear and chained his attention at once.
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