It was disturbing. I felt a twinge of jealousy, but whether for
the tall, strong young fellow before me, to whom I had been all, or for
the fair-faced girl, I could not for the life of me tell. It seemed to
be a bit of both.
"I remarked that she was attractive," said Tim aggressively, for I had
kept on smoking in silence.
"Rather," I answered carelessly. "But who is she--a stranger here?"
"Rather," repeated Tim hotly. "Well, you are blind. I suppose you
judged her by that ugly gray gown. You thought she was some pious
Dunkard."
"I am no enemy of piety," I retorted. "In fact, I hardly noticed her
clothes at all, except to think that their simplicity gave her a sort
of Priscilla air that was fetching."
Tim softened. "That's it exactly," he said. "But, Mark, you should
have seen Mary Warden when she came here."
"From where?" I asked.
"From Kansas. She lived in some big town out West, and when her mother
died there was no one left to her but Luther Warden, her uncle. He
sent for her, and now she is living with him.
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