"
Her niece glanced dreamily into the sinking fire as though she would
call up the pictures there. "But you know it all--the life I have only
had glimpses of. Well, for the first few months I almost lost my head,
and was swung right off my feet by the whirl of it. It was then I was,
perhaps, just a trifle thoughtless."
The white-haired lady laughed softly. "It is difficult to believe it,
Maud."
The girl shook her head reproachfully. "I know what you mean, and
perhaps you are right, for that was what Toinette insinuated," she
said. "She actually told me that I should be thankful I had a brain
since I had no heart. Still, at first I let myself go, and it was
delightful--the opera, the dances, and the covered skating-rink with
the music and the black ice flashing beneath the lights. The whir of
the toboggans down the great slide was finer still, and the torchlight
meets of the snowshoe clubs on the mountain. Yes, I think I was really
young while it lasted."
"For a month," said the elder. "And after?"
"Then," said the girl slowly, "it all seemed to grow a trifle
purposeless, and there was something that spoiled it. Toinette was
quite angry and I know her mother wrote you--but it was not my fault,
aunt. How was I, a guileless girl from the prairie, to guess that such
a man would fling the handkerchief to me?"
The evenness of tone and entire absence of embarrassment was
significant. It also pointed to the fact that there was a closer
confidence between Maud Barrington and her aunt than often exists
between mother and daughter, and the elder lady stroked the lustrous
head that rested against her knee with a little affectionate pride.
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