It is true, the time for her return to New
York drew near, but visions of the pleasure of imparting to her family
and friends the news of her engagement to the brilliant young novelist
did much to alleviate her regret at departing from Boston. She had a
pleasant consciousness that afternoon, of sharing in the attention
which Rangely received in public nowadays, especially since his novel
had been violently attacked in the _London Spectator_ and defended in
the _Saturday Review_. She noted the glances that were cast at him,
receiving their homage with a certain secret feeling of having a share
in it.
But bliss in this world is always transient, and at her happiest moment
Miss Merrivale looked up to perceive Mrs. Amanda Welsh Sampson bearing
down upon her. Mrs. Sampson was accompanied by the Hon. Tom Greenfield,
who both felt and looked utterly out of place; and who was dragged
along in the wake of his companion quite as much by his unwillingness
to be left to his own devices in a crowd of strangers, as by any
particular desire to follow her.
"My dear Frances," the widow said effusively, kissing Miss Merrivale on
both cheeks. "I am _so_ glad to see you. Really it is perfectly cruel
that you haven't been to see me. But then, I know," she ran on without
giving the other time to speak, "how busy you've been. I've seen your
name in the _Gossip_, and you've been everywhere.
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