Лето
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Sheworealargehatwithalongwhitefeather,andfromunderitsbrimherpaintedeyeslookedatCharitywithamusedrecognition.
“Say!ifthisain’tlikeOldHomeWeek,”sheremarkedtothegirlatherelbow;andgigglesandglancespassedbetweenthem.CharityknewatoncethatthegirlwiththewhitefeatherwasJuliaHawes.Shehadlostherfreshness,andthepaintunderhereyesmadeherfaceseemthinner;butherlipshadthesamelovelycurve,andthesamecoldmockingsmile,asifthereweresomesecretabsurdityinthepersonshewaslookingat,andshehadinstantlydetectedit.
Charityflushedtotheforeheadandlookedaway.ShefeltherselfhumiliatedbyJulia’ssneer,andvexedthatthemockeryofsuchacreatureshouldaffecther.ShetrembledlestHarneyshouldnoticethatthenoisytroophadrecognizedher;buttheyfoundnotablefree,andpassedontumultuously.
Presentlytherewasasoftrushthroughtheairandashowerofsilverfellfromtheblueeveningsky.Inanotherdirection,paleRomancandlesshotupsinglythroughthetrees,andafire-hairedrocketsweptthehorizonlikeaportent.Betweentheseintermittentflashesthevelvetcurtainsofthedarknessweredescending,andintheintervalsofeclipsethevoicesofthecrowdsseemedtosinktosmotheredmurmurs.
CharityandHarney,dispossessedbynewcomers,wereatlengthobligedtogiveuptheirtableandstrugglethroughthethrongabouttheboat-landings.
