"
"Isn't he the very dearest? He promised to come here today, but I
know he won't. Poor daddy, he gets home so tired sometimes. He has
just started on the big tunnel and there is so much to do. I have
been helping him with his papers every night. But when Aunt
Felicia's note came--she isn't my real aunt, you know, but I have
called her so ever since I was a little girl--daddy insisted on my
coming, and so I have left him for just a few days. He will be so
glad when I tell him I have met one of his old friends." There was
no question of her beauty, or poise, or her naturalness.
"Been a lady all her life, my dear Major, and her mother before
her," Miss Felicia said when I joined her afterward, and Miss
Felicia knew. "She is not like any of the young girls about, as
you can see for yourself. Look at her now," she whispered, with an
approving nod of her head.
Again my eyes sought the girl. The figure was willowy and
graceful; the shoulders sloping, the arms tapering to the wrists.
The hair was jet black--"Some Spanish blood somewhere," I
suggested, but the dear lady answered sharply, "Not a drop; French
Huguenot, my dear Major, and I am surprised you should have made
such a mistake.
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