"Everything wearies me: I am
actually impatient of the children, and when Mrs. Pinckney wails and
complains I can scarcely listen with decency. I want to burst out upon
her and say, 'You silly, tiresome woman! you have had your dream of
love and your husband; you have still four dear children; you have a
home, plenty of money, hosts of friends, besides youth and good looks;
while I am--oh, how desolate!'"
This imaginary attack upon Mrs. Pinckney seemed to comfort her
somewhat, for she dried her tears and tried to form a plan of action:
"He evidently didn't put my advertisement in the paper, for I've looked
in vain for it. I must go away where I shall never see Colonel Pinckney
again. I'll stifle, throttle, this miserable love, and endeavor once
more to be enduring and courageous."
Just then the house-door opened: some one walked down the veranda steps
and came rapidly in her direction.
"I have been looking everywhere for you," cried Colonel Pinckney; and
he seized both her hands: "no one seemed to know where you had gone."
The bright color rose in her cheeks, and in spite of her resolve her
eyes beamed with delight. She murmured inarticulately that she had told
Adele, then relapsed into silence.
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