Friday

It was just beginning to be light when Edith opened her eyes, and
lifting up her head, looked about the room to see if Lulu had been
in to make her fire. She always awoke earlier on lesson day, so as
to have a good long time TO THINK, and now as she counted the
hours, one, two, three and a half, which must intervene before she
saw Arthur St. Claire again, she hid her blushing face in the
pillow, as if ashamed to let the gray daylight see just how happy
she was.

These lessons had become the most important incidents in
her life, and this morning there was good cause why she should
anticipate the interview. She believed Richard was not going, and
though she was of course very sorry to leave him behind, she tried
hard to be reconciled, succeeding so well that when at 8 o'clock
she descended to the breakfast room, Victor asked what made her
look so unusually bright and happy.

"I don't know," she replied, "unless it is because we are going to
ride," and she glanced inquiringly at Richard, seating himself at
the table.

Victor shrugged his shoulders. HE knew more than Edith thought he
did, and waited like herself for Richard's answer. Richard HAD
intended to remain at home, but it seemed that Edith expected him
to go, by her saying WE, and rather than disappoint her he began
to think seriously of martyring himself again. Something like this
he said, adding that he found it vastly tedious, but was willing
to endure it for Edith's sake.