"
"But--there is Monsieur Chauvenet. He has nothing to do but amuse
himself."
They had reached the veranda steps, and she ran to the top and turned for
a moment to look at him. He still carried his hat and crop in one hand,
and had dropped the other into the side pocket of his coat. He was wholly
at ease, and the wind ruffled his hair and gave him a boyish look that
Shirley liked. But she had no wish to be found with him, and she
instantly nodded his dismissal and half turned away to go into the house,
when he detained her for a moment.
"I am perfectly willing to afford Monsieur Chauvenet all imaginable
entertainment. We are bound to have many meetings. I am afraid he reached
this charming valley before me; but--as a rule--I prefer to be a little
ahead of him; it's a whim--the merest whim, I assure you."
He laughed, thinking little of what he said, but delighting in the
picture she made, the tall pillars of the veranda framing her against the
white wall of the house, and the architrave high above speaking, so he
thought, for the amplitude, the breadth of her nature. Her green cloth
gown afforded the happiest possible contrast with the white background;
and her hat--(for a gown, let us remember, may express the dressmaker,
but a hat expresses the woman who wears it)--her hat, Armitage was aware,
was a trifle of black velvet caught up at one side with snowy plumes well
calculated to shock the sensibilities of the Audubon Society.
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