It is of Gretchen I am thinking, more than of
myself. Poor little Gretchen!'
Arthur's voice was inexpressibly sad and pitiful as he said 'Poor
Gretchen,' while his eyes again grew soft and tender, with a far-away
look in them, as if they were seeing things in the past rather than in
the future.
There was not a particle of sentiment in Frank's nature, and Gretchen
was to him an object of dread rather than a romance. So far as he could
judge, his brother had no intention of routing him; but a woman in the
field would be different, and he should at once lose his vantage-ground.
'You seem to be very fond of Gretchen,' he said, at last.
'Fond!' Arthur replied, 'I should say I am, though the poor child has
not much cause to think so. But I am going to atone, and this suite of
rooms is for her. I mean to make her a very queen, and dress her in
satin and diamonds every day. She has the diamonds. I sent them to her
when I wrote to her to join me in Liverpool.'
'And she did join you, I suppose?' Frank said, determined by adroit
questioning to learn something of the mysterious Gretchen.
'Yes, she joined me,' was the reply.
'Was she very seasick?' Frank continued.
'Not a minute. She sat by me all the time while I lay in my berth, but
she would not let me hold her hand, and if I tried to touch even her
hair, she always moved away to the other side of the state-room, where
she sat looking at me reproachfully with those soft blue eyes of hers.
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