I haven't had a letter from you in nearly a week, but I'm sure, if you
weren't well and happy, Mr. Stevens would let us know. I'm glad you're
having such a good time--you certainly deserve it after being cooped up
so long. Sorry you think it isn't suitable for you to dance yet, for, of
course, you would enjoy that a lot, but you can pretty soon, can't you?
Good-night, darling. God bless you always!
AUSTIN
* * * * *
There was something in the quiet, restrained tone of the letter, with its
details of homely, everyday news, and the tidings of his care and
interest in her little house, that touched Sylvia far more than many
pages of passionate outpouring of loneliness and longing could have done.
She knew that the loneliness and longing were there, even though he would
not say so, and she turned from the great bunch of American Beauties
which had also come in with her breakfast-tray, with something akin
almost to disgust as she thought of Austin's tiny bunch of arbutus--his
"bouquet des fiancailles," as he had called it--the only thing, besides
the little star, that he had ever given her.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197