"Well, good-night; it is time for me to
go," and, with a more hasty farewell than he had intended, he turned,
and left her standing in the doorway.
* * * * *
The next morning he was sitting before a cheerful grate fire in his
aunt's private parlor at a certain hotel in Boston, his long legs
stretched towards the blaze, and his chin dropped meditatively on his
breast, while she, at the other end of the leopard-skin, worked busily
on some fleecy white wool-work, occasionally glancing towards his
darkly-thoughtful face.
"Ah, well, Robare," she said at last, "this is then your last evening
here?"
He shook himself a little, sat upright, took his hands from his pockets,
and, forcing a smile, turned to her.
"Yes, Aunt Felicie; and a nice way to spend it, glowering at the fire!
Where's uncle?"
"He has to that meeting gone at the Natural History building; I cannot
its name remember. Why? had you a private word to say?"
"Well, I haven't told you about my trip yet, to Killamet."
"Ah! It was then to Killamet that you have been? I have thought so,
though you did say it was a business trip."
"And so it was, partly; old Adam has sold my yacht, and I went to get
the money."
"Are there, then, no banks with drafts, or notes of post in Killamet?"
rallyingly.
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