"
"Do they ever meet?" I inquired.
"Not very often."
"They have met?"
"Yes, several times."
"Have you seen them together?"
"Oh, yes."
"How does she act towards him?"
"Not always the same. Sometimes she is talkative, and sometimes
reserved--sometimes as gay as a lark, and sometimes sober enough; as
if there were such a weight on her spirits, that she could not smile
without an effort."
"Does the fact of his presence make any change in her?" I inquired.
"What I mean is, if she were lively in spirits before he came in,
would she grow serious--or if serious, grow excited?"
"Oh, yes, it always makes a change. I've known her, after being very
quiet, and hardly having any thing to say, though in the midst of
young company, grow all at once as merry as a cricket, and laugh and
joke in a wild sort of way. And again, when she has been in one of
her old, pleasant states of mind I have noticed that she all at once
drew back into herself; I could trace the cause to only this--the
presence of Henry Wallingford. But this doesn't often happen, for he
rarely shows himself in company.
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