He immediately threw himself into his saddle and followed her,
with the assumed air of an indifferent gentleman pursuing his own path.
He overtook her near one of those gates that frequently intersect the
road. Bowing, he passed her, opened the gate, and held it open for her
passage. Marian smiled, and nodded with a pleasant:
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Willcoxen," as she went through,
Thurston closed the gate and rode on after her.
"This is glorious weather, Miss Mayfield."
"Glorious, indeed!" replied Marian.
"And the country, too, is perfectly beautiful at this season. I never
could sympathize with the poets who call autumnal days 'the melancholy
days--the saddest of the year.'"
"Nor I," said Marian; "for to me, autumn, with its refulgent skies, and
gorgeous woods, and rich harvest, and its prospect of Christmas cheer
and wintry repose has ever seemed a gay and festive season. The year's
great work is done, the harvest is gathered, enjoyment is present, and
repose at hand."
"In the world of society," said Thurston, "it is in the evening, after
the labor or the business of the day is over, that the gayest scenes of
festivity occur, just preceding the repose of sleep. So I receive your
thought of the autumn--the evening of the year, preceding the rest of
winter.
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