He quietly
approached, and seated himself beside her with a commonplace
remark,--
"A very pretty bit of scenery, Dora."
"Yes," replied she, struggling to resume her usual demeanor.
"I am afraid, however, it does not satisfy your eye, accustomed to
the breadth of prairie views. Confess that you are a little weary of
it and us, and longing for home."
"I shall probably set out for home to-morrow," said Dora, turning
away her head, and playing idly with the grass beside her.
"I thought you were homesick. I am sorry we have so ill succeeded in
contenting you."
"Oh, don't think that! I have been so happy here these two weeks!
That is the very reason I ought to go."
"How is that? I don't see the argument."
"Because this is not my home, or the way I am to live, or these the
people I am to live with; and the sooner I am away, the better."
She did not see all the meaning of her words, poor child! but her
companion did, and smiled merrily to himself as he said,--
"You mean, we do not come up to your standard, and you cannot waste
more time upon us; don't you?"
Dora turned and looked at him, her suspicions roused by a mocking
ring beneath the affected humility of his tone; and, looking, she
caught the covert smile not yet faded from his eyes.
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