"Is it because we are going? I told him you would, when he
bade me come and ask if you would see him before he goes."
"Did he--did he send me that message?" and the Edith, who wouldn't
for the world meet Arthur St. Claire again, uncovered her face
eagerly. "Tell him to come to-morrow at ten o'clock. I am the
strongest then; and Nina, will you care if I ask you to stay away?
I'd rather see him alone."
Edith's voice faltered as she made this request, but Nina received
it in perfect good faith, answering that she would remain at home.
"I must go now," she added. "He's waiting for me, and I do so hope
you'll coax him to stay here. I hate old Florida."
Edith however felt that it was better for them both to part. She
had caught a glimpse of her own heart, and knew that its bleeding
fibres still clung to him, and still would cling till time and
absence had healed the wound.
"I will be very cold and indifferent to-morrow," she said to
herself, when after Nina's departure, she lay, anticipating the
dreaded meeting and working herself up to such a pitch of
excitement that the physician declared her symptoms worse, asking
who had been there, and saying no one must see her, save the
family, for several days.
Pages:
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339