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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

Miss Felicia, who
had not taken her gaze from the lad since he entered the room,
called him to her side.
"Now, tell me what you are all doing at home, and how your dear
aunt is, and--Miss Corinne, isn't it? And that very bright young
fellow who came with you at Ruth's tea?"
It was the last subject that Jack wanted to discuss, but he
stumbled through it as best he could, and ended in hoping, in a
halting tone, that Miss MacFarlane was well.
"Ruth! Oh, she is a darling! Didn't you think so?"
Jack blushed to the roots of his hair, but Miss Felicia's all-
comprehensive glance never wavered. This was the young man whom
Ruth had been mysterious about. She intended to know how far the
affair had gone, and it would have been useless, she knew, for
Jack to try to deceive her.
"All our Southern girls are lovely," he answered in all sincerity.
"And you like them better than the New York belles?"
"I don't know any."
"Then that means that you do."
"Do what?"
"Do like them better."
The boy thought for a moment.


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