“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. And stony broke. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “No, the only person I told before tonight was my mother and father. They went down the great staircase of the building, and, while she sought in her mind for a beginning, he broke into appreciation of her simple dress and selfcongratulations upon their engagement. “Oh, much better. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking.
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