The Atlantic Monthly Volume 77 (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1896 Excerpt: ...there was a silken thread she could clutch in the gloom, --she would never give Owen away. He might give himself, --he even certainly would; but that was his own affair, and his blunders, his innocence, only added to the appeal he made to her. She would cover him, she would protect him, and beyond thinking her a cheerful inmate he would never guess her intention, any more than, beyond thinking her clever enough for anything, his acute mother would discover it. From this hour, with Mrs. Gereth, there was a flaw in her frankness: her admirable friend continued to know everything she did; what should remain unknown was the general motive. From the window of her room, the next morning before breakfast, the girl saw Owen in the garden with Mona, who strolled beside him with a listening parasol, but without a visible look for the great florid picture that had been hung there by Mrs. Gereth's hand. Mona kept dropping her eyes, as she walked, to catch the sheen of her patent-leather shoes, which she kicked forward a little--it gave her an odd movement--to help her to see what she thought of them. When Fleda came down, Mrs. Gereth was in the breakfast-room; and at that moment, Owen, through a long window, passed in, alone, from the terrace, and very endearingly kissed liis mother. It immediately struck the girl that she was in their way, for had n't he been borne on a wave of joy exactly to announce, before the Brigstocks departed, that Mona had at last faltered out the sweet word he had been waiting for? He shook hands, with his friendly violence, but Fleda contrived not to look into his face: what she liked most to see in it was not the reflection of Mona's boottoes. She could bear well enough that young lady herself, but she could n't bear Owen's opinion of her. Sh.