He would not let any one think he
was so broken-hearted as to be unable to show himself. He was too strong
for that, and he had too much pride in his strength.
He was right in going to Mrs. Wyndham's, for she and her husband were his
oldest friends, and he understood well enough what true hearts and what
honest loyalty lie sometimes concealed in the bosoms of those brisk,
peculiar people, who seem unable to speak seriously for long about the
most serious subjects, and whose quaint turns of language seem often so
unfit to express any deep feeling. But while he talked with his hosts his
own thoughts strayed again and again to Joe, and he wondered what kind of
woman she really was. He intended to visit her the next day.
The next day came, however, and yet John did not turn his steps up the
hill towards Miss Schenectady's house. It was a cloudless morning after
the heavy storm, and the great drifts of snow flashed like heaps of
diamonds in the sun. All the air was clear and cold, and the red brick
pavements were spotted here and there with white patches left from the
shovels of the Irishmen.
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