Are you?"
"More glad than I can tell you," she answered, frankly, looking into my
face.
"See," said I, "there is the hospital. I believe there is a boy in
there that knows you--name of Goward."
"Yes," she said, rather faintly, looking down again, but not changing
color.
"Peggy," I asked, "do you still--think now, and answer truly--do you
still HATE him?"
She waited a moment, and then lifted her clear blue eyes to mine. "No,
Uncle Gerrit, I don't hate him half as much as I hate myself. Really, I
don't hate him at all. I'm sorry for him."
"So am I, my dear," said I, stretching my interest in the negligible
youth a little. "But he is getting well, and he is going West as soon
as possible. Look, is that the boy yonder, sitting on the terrace with
a fat lady, probably his mother? Do you feel that you could bow to him,
just to oblige me?"
She flashed a look at me. "I'll do it for that reason, and for another,
too," she said. And then she nodded her red head, in the prettiest way,
and threw in an honest smile and a wave of her hand for good measure. I
was proud of her. The boy stood up and took off his hat. I could see
him blush a hundred feet away. Then his mother evidently asked him a
question, and he turned to answer her, and so EXIT Mr. Goward.
The end of our drive was even pleasanter than the beginning.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303