And so when he said one day, "They call me Duke of
Stockbridge in jest, but it may be in earnest yet," she did not laugh,
but owned to herself that the tall, handsome fellow would look every
inch a duke, if he only had some better clothes. She did not let him
tell her in so many words that the motive of his ambition was to win
her, but she knew it well enough, and the thought did not excite her
indignation, though she knew it ought to.
The nearest she would let him come to talking love to her, was to talk
of their childhood and how he had adored her then. Her own remembrance
of those days of budding girlhood was dim, but he seemed to remember
everything about her, and she could but be touched as he reminded her
of scores of little incidents and scenes and words which had quite
escaped her memory. The doting tenderness which his tone sometimes
took on as he dwelt on these reminiscences, made her heart beat rather
fast, and in her embarrassment she had some ado to make light of the
subject.
But now Indian Summer, by whose grace the warm weather had been extended
nearly through November, came abruptly to a close. New England weather
was as barbarous in its sudden changes then as now.
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