" He thought of the
faithful little hearts that beat in the German garrison towns. "'Byron's
Poems'--I could easily be better than I am--'Lossing's History of the
American Revolution,' volume one, volume two--and I must try to be. 'The
Lamplighter'; 'The Wide, Wide World';--oh, curse that fellow's funny
stories!" as Rosy's ready laugh came from the next room. Truesdale
blushed as he thought of some of the stories that Paston could tell, when
so minded; and he stamped his foot that such a--such a--(he found no
word)--should be telling his sister any story at all. "But he's as good
as I am," Truesdale was forced to avow, as he passed through the hallway
and ascended to his room. "And better than lots of others. What can _I_
say or do?"
Rosy herself, however, would have asked for no change in Paston's manner.
She found him charming, fascinating; compared with him, William Bates was
far from entertaining. If Paston had attempted the chastened, the
deprecatory, she would have feared that he was not enjoying himself. She
would have taken but little satisfaction in deference pushed to humility.
She was beginning to idealize him, as Bertie Patterson had begun to
idealize her brother; but Rosy's idealization was not half so
generous.
While walking on his arm a week ago, she had not felt her self in a
public hall within a few hundred yards of her own home; no, she was at
Buckingham Palace or at St. James's--she was not sure which.
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