"Until then," I
added, "I fear the acquaintance must be Morganatic."
"You're only jealous of him," she said pertly. "Look at May--she
is completely fascinated. And her father, too." And actually, the
languid, world-sick, cynical Sylvester was regarding him with a
boyish interest and enthusiasm almost incompatible with his nature.
Yet I submit honestly to the clear-headed reason of my own sex,
that I could see nothing more in the man than I have already
delivered to the reader.
In the middle of an exciting story of adventure, of which he, to
the already prejudiced mind of his fair auditors, was evidently the
hero, he stopped suddenly.
"It's only some pack train passing the bridge on the lower trail,"
explained Sylvester; "go on."
"It may be my horse is a trifle oneasy in the stable," said the
alleged Kearney; "he ain't used to boards and covering." Heaven
only knows what wild and delicious revelation lay in the statement
of this fact, but the girls looked at each other with cheeks pink
with excitement as Kearney arose, and, with quiet absence of
ceremony, quitted the table.
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