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Allen, James Lane, 1849-1925

"The Mettle of the Pasture"

And finally
they gave out. And now she must take nearly all her cartridges
home! Mrs. Meredith would think her ignorant, therefore she would
think her common. If Pansy had only known what divine dulness,
what ambrosial stupidity, often reclines on those Olympian heights
called society!
As last she rose. Neither had mentioned Dent's name, though each
had been thinking of him all the time. Not a word had been spoken
to indicate the recognition of a relationship which one of them so
desired and the other so dreaded. Pansy might merely have hurried
over to ask Mrs. Meredith for the loan of an ice-cream freezer or
for a setting of eggs. On the mother's part this silence was
kindly meant: she did not think it right to take for granted what
might never come to pass. Uppermost in her mind was the cruelty of
accepting Pansy as her daughter-in-law this morning with the
possibility of rejecting her afterward.
As Pansy walked reluctantly out into the hall, she stopped with a
deep wish in her candid eyes.
"Oh, Mrs. Meredith, I should so much like to see the portrait of
Dent's father: he has often spoken to me about It."
Mrs. Meredith led her away in silence to where the portrait hung,
and the two stood looking at it side by side. She resisted a
slight impulse to put her arm around the child. When they returned
to the front of the house, Pansy turned:
"Do you think you will ever love me?"
The carriage was at the door.


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