That night, as the sun went down, Fanny might have been seen standing
at the door, where she had bid Mary and Emma good-night. Alice was
preparing to go, but Fanny seemed quite forgetful of her. She was still
looking far down the road, where Mary and Emma, with an arm around each
other's waist, were walking slowly along. Alice prided herself on being
more genteel in her manners than was Fanny Brighton; but she had not
Mary Palmer's self-forgetting courtesy. All the afternoon she had felt
vexed, because she imagined that but little notice had been taken of
herself; and now, as Fanny stood so absent-minded, picking a rose to
pieces, as her eyes wandered far away, Alice hurriedly put on her
bonnet, and said, in a tone of pique, "Good-night, Miss Brighton; I
suppose you would like now to cut acquaintance with me."
"Nonsense," said Fanny. "Wait a moment, I am going a little way with
you;" and as they walked along, Fanny tried to be herself again.
"There comes Graffam," said she: "now I hope that he is drunk; if so,
we will make him tell about the times when he was major."
But in this Fanny was disappointed. Soberly, but sadly, the poor man of
the plain came along, and shrunk from the gaze of those merry girls.
"O," said Fanny, "Uncle Pete is not tipsy; so we shall not hear from
the major to-night."
Poor Graffam passed them quickly, for he heard this remark; and a
deeper shade of gloom came over him.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93