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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

They could not finish
their breakfast till the guide-book had been brought to the table.
"Oh! How splendid!" Julia had cried then. "The Castle
of Chillon is there!"
"Why of course!" said Thorpe, complacently.
They laughed gayly at him for pretending that he had known this,
and he as good-humouredly accepted their banter. He drew
a serious long breath of relief, however, when their backs
were turned. It had gone off much better than he had feared.
Now, on this Sunday afternoon, as the train made its sure-footed
way across the mountains, the thought that he was actually
to alight at Montreux at once fascinated and depressed him.
He was annoyed with himself for suffering it to get such
a hold upon his mind. What was there in it, anyway? There
was a big hotel there, and he and his youngsters were to stop
at it, and if he accidentally encountered a certain lady
who was also stopping there--and of course the meeting
would bear upon its face the stamp of pure chance--what of it?
And if he did meet her, thus fortuitously--what would
happen then? No doubt a lady of her social position met
abroad great numbers of people that she had met at home.
It would not in any way surprise her--this chance encounter
of which he thought so much. Were there sufficient grounds
for imagining that it would even interest her? He forced
his mind up to this question, as it were, many times,
and invariably it shied and evaded the leap.


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