You've got to make up, you know, for all the
trouble you've put me to."
She kissed him obediently, yielding to his casual embraces with a
docility that would have charmed him had his passion been in its
beginning instead of its decline.
"You're glad now you came, aren't you?" she asked presently pleading to
be reassured.
"Oh, yes, of course, I like it, but you mustn't write to me that way
again."
Putting his arm closer about her, he pressed her to his side, and they
sat in silence while the wind whistled in the tree-tops above them. From
their shelter they could see the empty chimneys of Jordan's Journey, and
a blurred and attenuated figure on the lawn, which was that of the old
negro, who passed back and forth spreading manure. Some swallows with
slate grey wings were flying over the roof, and they appeared from a
distance to whirl as helplessly as the dead leaves.
"You do love me as much as ever, don't you, Jonathan?" she asked
suddenly.
He frowned, staring at the moving figure of the old negro. Again she had
blundered, for he was disinclined by temperament to do or say the thing
that was expected of him.
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