Her book charmed her; it was a story telling of the life she
loved and longed for--of the gay, glad world. Unfortunately all
the people in the book were noble, heroic, and ideal. The young
girl, in her simplicity, believed that they who lived in the
world she longed for were all like the people in her book.
When she left the path that led to the meadows, she saw by her
side the stranger who had met her the day before. Again he bowed
profoundly, and, with many well-expressed apologies, asked some
trifling question about the road.
Beatrice replied briefly, but she could not help seeing the
wonder of admiration in his face. Her own grew crimson under his
gaze--he saw it, and his heart beat high with triumph. As
Beatrice went through the meadows he walked by her side. She
never quite remembered how it happened, but in a few minutes he
was telling her how many years had passed since he had seen the
spring in England. She forgot all restraint, all prudence, and
raised her beautiful eyes to his.
"Ah, then," she cried, "you have seen the great world that lies
over the wide sea.
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