I often talked confidentially to him; he knew how I loved my
mother, and how I admired my father, and I told him all about my
brother's business. He also knew what I liked best to eat and to wear.
In return, he confided his family secrets to me. I knew his tastes and
wishes. There was no common ground where I met Redmond and Harry
Lothrop. There were too many topics between Redmond and myself to be
avoided, for us to venture upon private or familiar conversation. Harry
Lothrop was an accomplished, fastidious man of the world, I dreaded
boring him, and so I said little. He was several years older than
Redmond, and possessed more knowledge of men, women, and books. Redmond
had no acquirements, he knew enough by nature, and I never saw a person
with more fascination of manner and voice.
The evening before the sailing-party, I had a melancholy fit. I was
restless, and after dark I put a shawl over my head and went out to
walk. I went up a lonesome road, beyond our house. On one side I heard
the water washing against the shore with regularity, as if it were
breathing. On the other side were meadows, where there were cows
crunching the grass. A mile farther was a low wood of oaks, through
which ran a path. I determined to walk through that.
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