Why, it takes me back forty years, and makes me younger."
And when Champe came in from his ride, he found the old gentleman upon the
hearth-rug, his white hair tossing over his brow, as he recited from Mr.
Addison with the zest of a schoolboy of a hundred years ago.
"Hello, Beau! I hope you got your clothes," was Champe's greeting, as he
shook his cousin's hand.
"Oh, they turned up all right," said Dan, carelessly, "and, by-the-way,
there was an India shawl for grandma in that very trunk."
Champe crossed to the fireplace and stood fingering one of the tall vases.
"It's a pity you didn't stop by Uplands," he observed. "You'd have found
Virginia more blooming than ever."
"Ah, is that so?" returned Dan, flushing, and a moment afterward he added
with an effort, "I met Betty in the turnpike, you know."
Six months ago, he remembered, he had raved out his passion for Virginia,
and to-day he could barely stammer Betty's name. A great silence; seemed to
surround the thought of her.
"So she told me," replied Champe, looking steadily at Dan. For a moment he
seemed about to speak again; then changing his mind, he left the room with
a casual remark about dressing for supper.
"I'll go, too," said Dan, rising from his seat. "If you'll believe me, I
haven't spoken to my old love, Aunt Emmeline. So proud a beauty is not to
be treated with neglect."
He lighted one of the tall candles upon the mantel-piece, and taking it in
his hand, crossed the hall and went into the panelled parlour, where
Great-aunt Emmeline, in the lustre of her amber brocade, smiled her
changeless smile from out the darkened canvas.
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