Then the Philosopher laid a
great nosegay of garden flowers in her lap. She was so pleased she
coloured like a girl, and put out her delicate little old hand in its
black silk mitt, and he took it in both his and held it close for a
minute, looking at her with his blue eyes full of such a boyish
expression of affection as his own mother might have seen now and then,
years before. I think she would have liked to kiss him, and I am sure he
wanted to kiss her, but we were all looking on, and they had known each
other but a few hours. Nevertheless, there was something about the
little scene which touched us all--except Rhodora, who exclaimed:
"Gracious, Grandmother--I suppose that brings back the days when you had
lots of beaux! What a gorgeous jumble of old-fashioned flowers that is,
anyhow. I didn't know there were so many kinds in the world!"
The Skeptic hustled her into the carriage, rather as if she were a bag
of meal, handed her belongings in after her, shook hands with
Grandmother in his most courtly fashion, and stood aside.
Pages:
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60