When she went down-stairs and found
Mr. Pryor waiting for her in the parlor, the sparkle had all come
back. She had put on a striped silk dress, faint rose and green, made
very full in the skirt; her flat lace collar was fastened by a little
old pin--an oval of pearls holding a strand of hair like floss-silk.
"Why, Nelly," her visitor said, "you look younger every time I see
you."
She swept him a great courtesy, making her dress balloon out about
her; then she clasped her hands at her throat, her chin resting on the
fluff of her white undersleeves, and looked up at him with a delighted
laugh. "We are not very old, either of us; I am thirty-three and you
are only forty-six--I call that young. Oh, Lloyd, I was so low-
spirited this morning; and now--you are here!" She pirouetted about
the room in a burst of gayety.
As he watched her through half-shut eyes, the bored good humor in his
face sharpened into something keener; he caught her hand as she
whirled past, drawing her close to him with a murmured caress. She,
pausing in her joy, looked at him with sudden intentness.
"Have you heard anything of--_Frederick?_"
At which he let her go again and answered curtly: "No; nothing.
Perfectly well, the last I heard. In Paris, and enjoying himself in
his own peculiar fashion."
She drew in her breath and turned her face away; they were both
silent. Then she said, dully, that she never heard any news.
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