Dinsmore, stepping out upon the veranda, where
Harold stood leaning against a vine-wreathed pillar, his blue eyes fixed
with a sort of wistful, longing look upon Elsie's graceful figure and fair
face, as she sat in a half-reclining posture on a low couch but a few
feet from him.
"A wife," he answered, compelling himself to speak lightly.
"Don't let her do it," said Mr. Dinsmore, taking a seat by his daughter's
side; "I've warned her more than once not to meddle with match-making."
And he shook his head at her with mock gravity.
"I won't any more, papa; I'll leave him to his own devices, since he shows
himself so ungrateful for my interest in his welfare," Elsie said, looking
first at her father and then at Harold with a merry twinkle in her eye.
"I don't think I've asked how you like your new home and prospects,
Harold," said Mr. Dinsmore, changing the subject.
"Very much, thank you; except that they take me so far from the rest of
the family."
A few months before this Harold had met with a piece of rare good fortune,
looked at from a worldly point of view, in being adopted as his sole heir
by a rich and childless Louisiana planter, a distant relative of Mrs.
Allison.
"Ah, that is an objection," returned Mr. Dinsmore; "but you will be
forming new and closer ties, that will doubtless go far to compensate for
the partial loss of the old.
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