"My brave young friend!" The words mounted like wine to her head. She forgot her surroundings and stood in a sweet dream in the hall, slowly unbuttoning her glove. She must have remained in this attitude for five minutes, when, raising her eyes, still shadowy with thought, she saw her cousin before her down the hall, his arm resting on the newel-post.
"Louis!" she cried in surprise; and without considering, she hurried to him, threw her arm around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Arnold, taken by storm, stepped slightly back.
"When did you get home?" she asked, the pale rose-flush that mantled her cheeks making her face exquisite.
"Are you tired, Louis?" she inquired gently. "You are somewhat pale, and you speak in that way."
"Did you enjoy the play?" he asked quietly, passing by her remarks.
"The play!" she echoed, and then a quick burning blush suffused her face. The epilogue had wholly obliterated the play from her recollection.
"Oh, of course," she responded, turning from the rather sardonic smile of his lips and seating herself on the stairs; "do you want to hear about it now?"
"Well," she began, laying her gloves in her lap and snuggling her chin in the palms of her hands, "shall I tell you how I felt about it? In the first place, I was not ashamed of Shylock; if his vengeance was distorted, the cause distorted it. But, oh, Louis, the misery of that poor old man! After all, his punishment was as fiendish as his guilt. Booth was great. I wish you could have seen the play of his wonderful eyebrow and the eloquence of his fine hand. Poor old, lonely Shylock! With all his intellect, how could he regret that wretched little Jessica?"
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said that his boys were resting and gaining strength after
reward that they would win from him if they carried his
tables, and lifting Helen Cumberly, carried her half-way