listen better. Ah! how often it happened after that. I blush again to
think how much I pained him, and how silently he bore it all.
The last days of July were very busy ones in the Wall-street office, and
Richard did not give himself a holiday, till one Saturday, much to be
remembered, the very last day of the month. I recall with penitence,
the impatient feeling that I had when Richard told me he was going to
take the day at home. I felt intuitively that it would spoil it all for
me. After breakfast, we all played croquet, and then I shut myself into
my room with my German books, and selfishly saw no one till dinner. At
dinner I was excited and half frightened, as I always was when Mr.
Langenau and Richard were both present, and both watching me; it was
impossible to please either.
Something was said about the afternoon, and Richard (who all this time
knew nothing of the German class) said to me, evidently afraid of some
other engagement being entered on, "I hope you will drive with me,
Pauline, at five. I ordered the horses when I was down at the stables; I
think the afternoon is going to be fine." It was rather a public way of
asking one out of so many to go and take a drive; but in truth, Richard
was too honest and straightforward to care who knew what he was in
pursuit of, and too sore at heart and too indifferent an actor to
conceal it if he had desired. But the invitation struck me with such
consternation. At five o'clock! The flower and consummation of the day!
The hour that I had been looking forward to, since seven the day before.
I could not lose it. I would not go to drive. I hated Richard. I hated
going to drive. I grew very brave, and was on the point of saying that
I could not go, when I caught Sophie's eye. She made me a quick sign,
which I dared not disobey. I blushed crimson, and did not lift my eyes
again, but said in a low voice that I would go. Then my heart seemed to
turn to lead, and all the glory and pleasure of the day was gone. It
seemed to me of such vast importance, of such endless duration, this
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