The young man seemed to be much interested in this recital. “Indeed!” he said, “this is very delightful to know, and it makes such a difference! Though I had always understood that your descent had been very—precipitous!”
Miss Clinton glared at him, unable to utter a word, and seemed only just able to restrain herself from throwing her snuff-box at him.
He rose wearily, and went out of the room, having half a mind to run away altogether.
But ah! who met him at the door, bringing sunshine and peace in her fair face, holding out two dear little hands, and scattering with a word all his annoyance?
“Dear Carl,” Edith said, “are you really glad to see me—really glad?”
“How could you imagine such a thing?” he replied.
“Then I will go back to Seaton again. Good-by!”
She took a step toward the street-door, only a step, both her hands being strongly held.
“You forget, then, silvern speech and golden silence,” the young man said.
“No,” she replied. “But solid silver is better than airy gold. If people say kind things to you, then you are sure, and have something to remember; but looks fade, and you can think that you mistake, or mistook. Oh! I like silence, Carl, but it must be a silence that follows after speech. That is the sole golden silence.”