"She does not know how to sympathize with me," sighed her daughter.
The sigh caught Van Berg's attention, and he was surprised to see
that the maiden's eyes were full of tears. She bowed her head a
moment to hide them, and then abruptly left the table and the room.
The artist's misgivings ended in something like compunction, as
he thought: "Her tears are caused by the contrast between the icy
reception we gave her, and the cordial welcome we have just given
Miss Burton. Confound it all! I wish I knew the exact truth, or
that she would leave for parts unknown where I could never see her
again."
Miss Burton glanced wistfully after the retreating maiden, but no
explanation was offered. Then, as if feeling that she had lost a
day's opportunity for diffusing sunshine, she became more genial
and brilliant than Van Berg had ever known her to be. They lingered
long at the table; Mr. Burleigh and others joined them. Their
laughter rang out and up to the dusky room in which poor Ida was
sobbing,
"I wish I were dead and out of every one's way."
Van Berg laughed with the others, but never for a moment did he
lose the uneasy consciousness that he might possibly be misjudging
Ida Mayhew.
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