"
Julia's glance, full of affectionate appreciation,
showed how wholly she divined his spirit of self-sacrifice.
"We wouldn't care in the least for it," she declared.
"We enjoy being a little party by ourselves every whit
as much as you do--and we both hate the people you get
at table d'hotes--and besides, for that matter, if there
are any real swells here, you may be sure they dine in their
own rooms."
"Why, of course!" Thorpe exclaimed swiftly, in palpable
self-rebuke. "I don't know what I could have been thinking of.
Of course they would dine in their rooms."
Next morning, Thorpe rose earlier than ever--with the
impression of a peculiarly restless and uncomfortable night
behind him. It was not until he had shaved and dressed
that he noted the altered character of the air outside.
Although it was not fully daylight yet, he could see
the outlines of the trees and vinerows on the big,
snow-clad hill, which monopolized the prospect from his window,
all sharp and clear cut, as if he were looking at them
through an opera-glass. He went at once to the sitting-room,
and thrust the curtains aside from one of the windows.
A miracle had been wrought in the night. The sky
overhead was serenely cloudless; the lake beneath,
stirring softly under some faint passing breeze,
revealed its full breadth with crystalline distinctness.
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