Demetria seemed pleased to think she looked well,
and was more light-hearted than I had seen her before. That antique
finery, which would have been laughable on another woman, somehow or
other seemed appropriate to her; possibly because the strange simplicity
and ignorance of the world displayed in her conversation, and that
gentle dignity of manner natural to her, would have prevented her from
appearing ridiculous in any costume.
At length, after we had partaken of _mate_ served by Ramona, the
old servants retired from the room, not without many longing, lingering
glances at their metamorphosed mistress. Then somehow or other our
conversation began to languish, Demetria becoming constrained in manner,
while that anxious shadow I had grown so familiar with came again like
a cloud over her face. Thinking that it was time to leave her, I rose
to go, and thanked her for the pleasant evening I had spent, and
expressed a wish that her future would be brighter than her past had
been.
"Thank you, Richard," she returned, her eyes cast down, and allowing
her hand to rest in mine. "But must you leave me so soon?--there is
so much I wish to say to you."
"I will gladly remain and hear it," I said, sitting down again by her
side.
"My past has been very sad, as you say, Richard, but you do not know
all," and here she put her handkerchief to her eyes.
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