He almost
timidly took her hand, kissed it; and it was she who sought his
shoulder--gladly, eagerly, with a sudden, real shyness.
"Margaret," he said. "Mine--aren't you?"
Here was the Joshua she was to know thenceforth, she felt. This
Joshua would enable her to understand, or, rather, to disregard,
so far as she personally was concerned, the Josh, tempestuous,
abrupt, often absurd, whom the world knew. But--As soon as they
went where the guides were, the familiar Josh returned--boyish,
boisterous, rather foolish in trying to be frivolous and light.
Still--what did it matter? As soon as they should be alone again--
When they set out after breakfast her Joshua still did not return,
as she had confidently expected. The obstreperous one remained,
the one that was the shrewdly-developed cover for his everlasting
scheming mind. "What an unending ass I've been making of myself,"
he burst out, "with my silly notions." He drew a paper from his
pocket and handed it to her. "And this infernal thing of Grant's
has been encouraging me in idiocy."
She read the Arkwright gentleman's gazette and complete guide to
dress and conduct in the society of a refined gentlewoman.
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