Ethelyn had planned this trip herself, and Richard, though knowing how awfully he should be bored before the summer was over, had assented to all that she proposed, secretly hoping the while that the last days of August would find him safe at home in Olney among his books, his horses, and his farming pursuits.  He was very tired that night, and he did not tarry longer than ten, though a word from Ethelyn would have kept him for hours at her side, so intoxicated was he with her beauty, and so quiet and happy he felt with her; but the word was not spoken, and he left her standing on the piazza, where he could see the gleaming of her white robes when he looked back, as he more than once did ere reaching his uncle’s door.

The next three days passed rapidly, bringing at last the eventful one for which all others were made, it seemed to him, as he looked out upon the early, dewy morning, thinking how pleasant it was there in that quiet New England town, and trying to fight back the unwelcome headache which finally drove him back to his bed, from which he wrote the little note to Ethelyn, who might think strange at his non-appearance when he had been accustomed to go to her immediately after breakfast.  He never dreamed of the relief it was to her not to have him come, as he lay flushed and heated upon his pillow, the veins upon his forehead swelling with their pressure of hot blood, and his ear strained to catch the first sound of the servant’s returning step.  Ethelyn would either come herself to see him, or send some cheerful message, he was sure.  How, then, was he disappointed to find his own note returned, with the assurance that “it did not matter, as he would only be in the way.”

Several times he read it over, trying to extract some comfort from it, and finding it at last in the fact that Ethelyn had a headache, too.  This was the reason for her seeming indifference; and in wishing himself able to go to her, Richard forgot in part his own pain, and fell into a quiet sleep, which did him untold good.  It was three o’clock when at last he rose, knowing pretty well all that had been doing during the hours of his seclusion in the darkened room.  The “Van Buren set” had come, and he overheard Mrs. Markham’s Esther saying to Aunt Barbara’s Betsy, when she came for the silver cake-basket, that “Mr. Frank seemed in mighty fine spirits, considering all the flirtations he used to have with Miss Ethelyn.”

This was the first intimation Richard had received of a flirtation, and even now it did not strike him unpleasantly.  They were cousins, he reflected, and as such had undoubtedly been very familiar with each other.  It was natural, and nothing for which he need care.  He did not care, either, as he deliberately began to make his wedding toilet, thinking himself, when it was completed, that he was looking unusually well in the entire new suit which his cousin, Mrs. Woodhull, had insisted upon his getting in New York, when on his way home in April he had gone that