You know Colonel Pinckney
went to New York in the train that I did."
"You didn't see him after your arrival?"
"No: he put me on a car and left me."
"I suspect it was an after-thought," said Mrs. Pinckney. "I had a
telegram, directing me to send on his travelling-bag by express: the
rest of his luggage was to be left until further orders.--Is it
possible that she has refused him?" thought Mrs. Pinckney behind her
fan. She was occupying her usual seat by the fire: Miss Featherstone
was in a low chair, with Harry on her lap, the other children hanging
about her. She was telling them a story, but they were not as well
entertained as usual. The young governess was unlike herself to-night,
and little touches, dramatic effects and gay inflections of the voice
were lacking.
A month passed, and nothing had been heard from Colonel Pinckney. "He
might have written just one line," said his sister-in-law querulously.
She was in her favorite position, propped up by pillows on the bed,
Miss Featherstone at her side waiting to receive orders, for gradually
all her old duties had been permitted to slip back into her willing
hands. "Certainly he seemed to enjoy himself when he was here; yet not
one line of thanks or remembrance have I received.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258