Home of the blest,
Home that is rest
To the weary pilgrim's feet, to the weary pilgrim's heart.
and then her words were lost in the distance.
With an impulse he did not think of resisting he followed them back
to the hotel and waited patiently till she and her father came out
from supper.
"Miss Mayhew," he said, a little discontentedly, "I have scarcely
had a chance to say a word to you to-day, and it seems to me that
I have a great deal to say."
She looked at him with some surprise as she replied, "Well, I think
I might at least become a good listener."
"Do you mean a patient one?"
"I never had any patience," she answered, with something like a
smile.
"And I was never so possessed by the demon of impatience as I have
been this afternoon. There hasn't been a soul around that I cared
to talk with, and if you knew how out of conceit I am with my own
company, you would feel some commiseration. How I envied you your
visit to the garden this afternoon, for I felt sure you took your
father thither. May I not go with you again to-morrow, or soon? I
wish to make my sketch more accurate before beginning your picture."
She hesitated a moment, and he little know how he was tempting her.
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