To the night bird’s song, while I dream of you.
The mist clouds rise, then fall apart,
Yet still I dream of you, sweetheart.”
When the music of the song had died away, Hugh walked meditatively along the graveled walk toward the house, and up the broad steps to the veranda. Marie answered the bell.
“Why, how do you do, Mr. Stanton?” said she, extending her hand in greeting. She led him into the major’s library, and invited him to be seated. “I am glad you’ve called,” she said, “for I am so lonely. I fear you will be disappointed, however, for papa is not at home.”
“The major not at home?” repeated Hugh, with surprise in his voice.
“No,” replied the girl, the light in her face fading. Hugh saw her sudden change of expression, and he felt that he had been rather uncomplimentary.
“In that event,” said he, by way of atonement, “I shall have the still greater pleasure of a visit with you.”
“Me?” she exclaimed, while the light rekindled in her face. “I am not nearly so clever as Ethel.”
“You underestimate yourself,” replied Hugh, gallantly.