"There is supper going on somewhere," he said; "will you come
and have some, or shall I bring you an ice here?"
"Neither," she answered, quickly. "I--I don't want anything,
and I would rather stay here."
"Perhaps you are right," he said. "We shall have the room to
ourselves in a minute, and then it will be cooler."
In fact, the room was nearly deserted--almost every one had
gone away to supper. Madelon stood leaning against the window,
half hidden by the curtain; the sudden gleam of defiance, of
resentment against Horace, had faded; it had vanished at the
sound of his kind voice, which she loved better than any other
in the world. But there were tears of passion still in her
eyes; her little moment of joyousness and triumph had been so
cruelly dashed from her; she felt hurt, humiliated, almost
exasperated.
"How hot it is!" she said, glancing round impatiently. "Where
is every one gone? Cannot we go too? No, not in to supper.
What is going on in that little room? I have not been there."
"It leads into the garden, I think," answered Graham. "Shall
we see? Wait a moment.
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