Gordon Wright and his wife were out of town, but Bernard
went into the country, as boldly as you please, to inform them of
his little project and take a long leave of them. He had made his
arrangements to sail immediately, and, as at such short notice it was
impossible to find good quarters on one of the English vessels, he had
engaged a berth on a French steamer, which would convey him to Havre. On
going down to Gordon's house in the country, he was conscious of a good
deal of eagerness to know what had become of that latent irritation
of which Blanche had given him a specimen. Apparently it had quite
subsided; Blanche was wreathed in smiles; she was living in a bower of
roses. Bernard, indeed, had no opportunity for investigating her state
of mind, for he found several people in the house, and Blanche, who had
an exalted standard of the duties of a hostess, was occupied in making
life agreeable to her guests, most of whom were gentlemen. She had
in this way that great remedy for dissatisfaction which Bernard
lacked--something interesting to do. Bernard felt a good deal of genuine
sadness in taking leave of Gordon, to whom he contrived to feel even
more kindly than in earlier days. He had quite forgotten that Gordon
was jealous of him--which he was not, as Bernard said.
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