“How do you suppose they got hold of such an idea?” she said.
“I can’t imagine,” said Mrs. Guion, “I’m sure they never got it from me. Alan will insist that they did, as he considers me a most bigoted rebel. But certainly I have never taught any such sentiment as that to the children. They must simply have imbibed it with the air they have breathed.”
“It’s an excellent story,” said Margaret, laughing over it still; “I shall have no rest until I have told it to Mr. Gaston.”
CHAPTER XII.
EVER since Mrs. Gaston had called attention to the fact that Alan Decourcy had a habit of watching her, Margaret had been conscious that it was really the case. He always listened attentively when she spoke, applauding by eloquent looks and smiles when her sentiments pleased him, and looking annoyed and disappointed when they did not. She could not help seeing that he was studying her with a deliberateness she felt somewhat inclined to resent.
It was hard to cherish any feeling of resentment against him, however, during that pleasant week in Baltimore, for he was kindness itself, contributing in every possible way to her comfort and enjoyment. Every night there was something pleasant going on, and Alan was always at hand, to act as escort, if no one else held the place. Margaret was delighted with Baltimore, and when she expressed herself to this effect, Mr. Decourcy showed such manifest approval of the sentiment that she half regretted it the next minute. She was beginning to feel a little disconcerted by certain signs she saw in Alan.
This young lady got so much pleasure and entertainment out of everything, that it often surprised her to catch glimpses of a carefully concealed ennui in the expression of her cousin’s guarded countenance.
“I should not like to be as thoroughly initiated as you are, Alan,” she said to him one day. “You’ve seen and done pretty much everything, I suppose, and nothing has any particular zest for you now.”