And
after an early supper he shook hands with them all--excepting "Mother
West," whom he kissed, and Marjorie, whom he asked to walk as far as
"Linnet's" with him on his way to the train--and before ten o'clock was
on board the _Linnet_, and congratulating again the bridegroom, who was
still radiant, and the bride, who was not looking in the least bit
homesick.
"Will," said Linnet with the weight of tone of one giving announcement to
a mighty truth, "I wouldn't be any one beside myself for _anything_."
"And I wouldn't have you any one beside yourself for _anything_," he
laughed, in the big, explosive voice that charmed Linnet every time
afresh.
XIV.
A TALK AND ANOTHER TALK.
"Life's great results are something slow."--Howells.
Morris had said good-bye with a look that brought sorrow enough in
Marjorie's eyes to satisfy him--almost, and had walked rapidly on, not
once turning to discover if Marjorie were standing still or moving toward
home; Mr. Holmes and Miss Prudence had promised to start out to meet her,
so that her walk homeward in the starlight would not be lonely.
But they were not in sight yet to Marjorie's vision, and she stood
leaning over the gate looking at the windows with their white shades
dropped and already feeling that the little, new home was solitary. She
did not turn until a footstep paused behind her; she was so lost in
dreams of Linnet and Morris that she had not noticed the brisk, hurried
tread. The white rose had fallen from her hair and the one at her throat
had lost several petals; in her hand was a bunch of daisies that Morris
had picked along the way and laughingly asked her to try the childish
trick of finding out if he loved her, and she had said she was afraid
the daisies were too wise and would not ask them.
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