"I came very near it one time," smiled Miss Rose; "perhaps I may yet. I wish I could."
There was no mistaking the sincerity of her tone. Nathalie shrugged her shoulders—to her it looked like wishing for something very dreary and dismal indeed. The world seemed a very bright and beautiful place to the heiress of Redmon that foggy summer night.
"Why don't you become one, then?" asked Catty, who would have been very glad of it; "I should think they would be pleased to get you."
"I am not so sure of that; I would be no great acquisition. But just at present there is a reason that renders it impossible."
Of course, no one could ask the reason, though all would have liked to know. When it grew too dark to sew or play, the lamp was lit, and they had cards, and it was nine when Nathalie arose to go.
"Couldn't you stay all night, Natty?" asked her mother; "it's dreadfully foggy to go up to Redmon to-night."
"If it were ten times as foggy, I should have to go. I don't mind it, though, in company with Charley and an umbrella."
She kissed them all good night, even Catty, in the happiness of her heart; and, wrapped in her shawl and cloud, she took her brother's arm and started. The fog was thicker, and wetter, and colder than ever; the night as wretched a one for a walk as could well be imagined, and the bleak sea wind blew raw in their faces all the way.
"How confoundedly cold it is!" exclaimed Charley, "more like January than July. You will perish, Natty, before we get to Redmon! You should not have come out this evening."
"I wanted to talk to you, Charley, on a very important matter indeed!"