"
Uncle Charlie smiled again at her--an altogether cheerful kind of
smile; no, he didn't suspect any tragic undercurrent beneath this
pleasant-sounding conversation. All he said was:
"Aunt Isabel should feel flattered--but I hope she finds a happier
lot."
Ah!
"Yes, I hope so," breathed Missy, rather weakly.
Then Uncle Charlie at last closed the book.
"Poor Tristram and Isolde," he said, as if speaking an epitaph.
But Missy caught her breath. Uncle Charlie felt sorry for the ill-
fated lovers. Oh, if he only knew!
At dinner time (on Sundays they had midday dinner here), Aunt Isabel
came down to the table. She said her head was better, but she looked
pale; and her blue eyes were just like the Blessed Damozel's,
"deeper than the depth of waters stilled at even." Yet, pale and
quiet like this, she seemed even more beautiful than ever,
especially in that adorable lavender negligee--with slippers to
match. Missy regarded her with secret fascination.
After dinner, complaining of the heat, Aunt Isabel retired to her
room again. She suggested that Missy take a nap, also.
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