Then Mr. Walrond began to say grace and the difficulties of that meeting
were over.
Anthony sat by Barbara. His chair was rickety, one of the legs being
much in need of repair; the driftwood fire that burned brightly about
two feet away grilled his spine, for no screen was available, and he
nearly choked himself with a piece of very hot and hard potato. Yet to
tell the truth never before did he share in such a delightful meal. For
soon, when the clamour of "the girls" swelled loud and long, and the
attention of Mr. and Mrs. Walrond was entirely occupied with the burnt
beef and the large duck that absolutely refused to part with its limbs,
he found himself almost as much alone with Barbara as though they had
been together on the wide seashore.
"You are really getting quite well?" he asked.
"Yes, I think so." Then, after a pause and with a glance from the violet
eyes, "Are you glad?"
"You know I am glad. You know that if you had--died, I should have died
too."
"Nonsense," said the curved lips, but they trembled and the violet eyes
were a-swim with tears. Then a little catch of the throat, and, almost
in a whisper, "Anthony, father told me about you and the window-blind
and--oh! I don't know how to thank you.
Pages:
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288