thought; but now that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless—not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of prosperous life should have made him. She couldn’t understand it, and did not venture to ask questions; so she shook her head, and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the arches of the Paglioni bridge, and vanished in the church.
“ Que pensez vous? ” she said, airing her French, which had improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.
“That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is charming,” replied Laurie, bowing, with his hand on his heart, and an admiring look.
She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was “altogether jolly,” with a