She went to her room and locked her door by sticking a pen-knife
over the latch, and sat down to have a good cry. Her faculties being thus
cleared for action, she thought seriously for an hour. If you can remember
when you were a school-girl, you know a great deal of solid thinking can
be done in an hour. But we can tell you in a moment what it footed up. You
can walk through the Louvre in a minute, but you cannot see it in a week.
_Susan Barringer (sola, loquitur)_: "Three weeks yesterday. Yes, I s'pose
it's so. What a little fool I was! He goes everywheres--says the same
things to everybody, like he was selling ribbons. Mean little scamp!
Mother seen through him in a minute. I'm mighty glad I didn't tell her
nothing about it." [Fie, Susie! your principles are worse than your
grammar.] "He'll marry some rich girl--I don't envy her, but I hate
her--and I am as good as she is. Maybe he will come back--no, and I hope
he won't;--and I wish I was dead!" (_Pocket handkerchief._)
Yet in the midst of her grief there was one comforting thought--nobody
knew of it. She had no confidante--she had not even opened her heart to
her mother: these Western maidens have a fine gift of reticence. A few of
her countryside friends and rivals had seen with envy and admiration the
pretty couple on the day of Leon's arrival.
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