lmost time to wake, when John came again into the quiet room
which now seemed the Eden that contained his Eve. Of course there was a
jubilee; but something seemed to have befallen the whole group, for
never had they appeared in such odd frames of mind. John was restless,
and wore an excited look, most unlike his usual serenity of aspect.
Nan the cheerful had fallen into a well of silence and was not to be
extracted by any Hydraulic power, though she smiled like the June sky
over her head. Di's peculiarities were out in full force, and she
looked as if she would go off like a torpedo at a touch; but through
all her moods there was a half-triumphant, half-remorseful expression
in the glance she fixed on John. And Laura, once so silent, now sang
like a blackbird, as she flitted to and fro; but her fitful song was
always, "Philip, my king."
John felt that there had come a change upon the three, and silently
divined whose unconscious influence had wrought the miracle. The
embargo was off his tongue, and he was in a fever to ask that question
which brings a flutter to the stoutest heart; but though the "man" had
come, the "hour" had not. So, by way of steadying his nerves, he paced
the room, pausing often to take notes of his companions, and each pause
seemed to increase his wonder and content.
He looked at Nan. She was in her usual place, the rigid little chair
she loved, because it once was large enough to hold a curly-headed
playmate and herself. The old work-basket was at her side, and the
battered thimble busily at work; but her lips wore a smile they had
never worn before, the color of the unblown roses touched her cheek,
and her downcast eyes were full of light.
He looked at Di. The inevitable book was on her knee, but its leaves
were uncut; the strong-minded knob of hair still asserted its supremacy
aloft upon her head, and the triangular jacket still adorned her
shoulders in defiance of all fashions, past, present, or to come; but
the expression of her brown countenance had grown softer, her tongue
had found a curb, and in her hand lay a card with "Potts, Kettel & Co."
inscribed thereon, which she regarded with never a scornful word for
the "Co."
He looked at Laura. She was before her easel as of old; but the pale
nun had given place to a blooming girl, who sang at her work, which was
no prim Pallas, but a Clytie turning her human face to meet the sun.
"John, what are you thinking of?"
He stir
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