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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh and Other Tales"

The
dimples were all there--and something else. He bowed and passed
out.
Ten minutes later he ostentatiously returned to the house by the
front door, and proceeded up the stairs to his own room. As he
cast a glance around he saw that the music-stool had been moved
before the fire, evidently with the view of attracting his
attention. Lying upon it, carefully folded, was the veil that she
had worn. There could be no doubt that it was left there
purposely. With a smile at this strange girl's last characteristic
act of timid but compromising recklessness, after all his
precautions, he raised it tenderly to his lips, and then hastened
to hide it from the reach of vulgar eyes. But had Cherry known
that its temporary resting-place that night was under his pillow
she might have doubted his superior caution.
When he returned from the bank the next afternoon, Cherry rapped
ostentatiously at his door. "Mother wishes me to ask you," she
began with a certain prim formality, which nevertheless did not
preclude dimples, "if you would give us the pleasure of your
company at our Church Festival to-night? There will be a concert
and a collation. You could accompany us there if you cared. Our
friends and Tappington's would be so glad to see you, and Dr. Stout
would be delighted to make your acquaintance."
"Certainly!" said Herbert, delighted and yet astounded. "Then," he
added in a lower voice, "your mother no longer believes me so
dreadfully culpable?"
"Oh no," said Cherry in a hurried whisper, glancing up and down the
passage; "I've been talking to her about it, and she is satisfied
that it is all a jealous trick and slander of these neighbors.


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