Mrs. Laudersdale started; she had not escaped too early; but then----Her
heart was beating in her throat.
"What letter?" asked Mrs. Heath, with amiable curiosity, as she joined
them.
"Do you know what letter, Mr. Raleigh?"
"One from India, Madame," was his response.
"Strange! Helen gone without permission! What was in the letter, I
wonder. Do you know what was in the letter, Mr. Raleigh?"
"Congratulations, and a recommendation of Mrs. McLean's cousin to her
good graces," he said.
"Oh, it was not Helen's, then?"
"No."
"My young gentleman's not in good humor to-night," whispered Mrs. Heath
to Miss Purcell, with a significant nod, and moving off.
"How did you know what was in Mrs. McLean's letter, Sir?" asked Mary
Purcell.
"I conjectured. In Mrs. Heath's place, I should have known."
"There they come!--you can always tell Mrs. McLean's laugh. You've lost
all the charades, Helen!"
They came in, very gay, and seemed at once to arouse an airier and finer
spirit among the humming clusters. Mr. Laudersdale did not join his
wife, but sat on the piazza talking with Mr. McLean. People were looking
at an herbal, others coquetting, others quiet. Some one mentioned music.
Directly afterward, Mr. Raleigh rose and approached the piano. Every
one turned. Taking his seat, he threw out a handful of rich chords; the
instrument seemed to diffuse a purple cloud; then, buoyed over perfect
accompaniment, the voice rose in that one love-song of the world.
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