At first the favorable impression made by the reunited family caught
his attention, and he muttered, "There is some more of her magic.
But what is the matter with Miss Mayhew herself. Her eyes are
burning with a fire that is anything but tender and sacred, and
there are moments when her face is almost stern, and again it is
full of trouble."
Some one discovered him on the piazza, and there was a general
wish expressed that he should sing with Miss Burton a duet that
had become a favorite. After this and one or two other pieces,
he again sought his place of observation. The color and fire had
now wholly faded from Miss Mayhew's face, and she looked pale and
sad. Her father turned to her, and said:
"Ida, I fear you don't feel well."
"I'm very tired, and think I had better go to my room."
He rose instantly, and gave her his arm, but on the way she reassured
him: "A night's sleep, and the rest I shall have with you in the
city are just what I need; so don't worry, for I shall be ready to
take the train with you in the morning;" and Mr. Mayhew rejoined
his wife, and completed a happier day than he ever expected to see
again.
But poor Ida, when left alone, buried her face in her hands
and sobbed, "I've wounded HIS feelings, I've given way to my old
passionate anger, I've spoken to mother as a daughter never should.
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