" I
asked him about his guitar, and when we might hear him play. He grew
more chatty and began to tell me about his sister, when Redmond and
Harry Lothrop came over to us, which ended his chat.
The party was like all parties,--dull at first, and brighter as it grew
late. The old ladies played whist in one room, and the younger part of
the company were in another. Champagne was not a prevalent drink in our
village, but it happened that we had some that night.
"It may be a sinful beverage," said an old lady near me, "but it is
good."
Redmond opened a bottle for me, we clinked glasses, and drank to an
indefinite, silent wish.
"One more," he asked, "and let us change glasses."
Presently a cloud of delicate warmth spread over my brain, and gave me
courage to seek and meet his glance. There must have been an expression
of irresolution in my face, for he looked at me inquiringly, and then
his own face grew very sad. I felt awkward from my intuition of his
opinion of my mood, when he relieved me by saying something about
Shelley,--a copy of whose poems lay on a table near. From Shelley he
went to his boat, and said he hoped to have some pleasant excursions
with Laura and myself. He "would go at once and talk with Laura's
mother about them.
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