Griswold was
peculiar,--over-nice in some points, and Arthur had been wholly
under his control, becoming morbidly sensitive to the past, and
magnifying every trivial circumstance into a mountain too great to
be moved.
This was Edith's reasoning as she sat waiting that October
afternoon for Arthur, who came ere long, looking happier, more
like himself than she had seen him since the memorable day when
she first met Nina. Arthur had determined to do right, to tell
without reserve the whole of his past history to Edith Hastings,
and the moment he reached this decision half his burden was lifted
from his mind. It cost him a bitter struggle thus to decide, and
lest his courage should give way, he had asked for an early
interview. It was granted, and without giving himself time to
repent he came at once and stood before the woman who was dearer
to him than his life. Gladly would he have died could he thus have
blotted out the past and made Edith his wife, but he could not,
and he had come to tell her so.
Never had she been more beautiful than she was that afternoon.
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