I wished, too, that I had had a little more
practise in pistol shooting.
"What do you think of Virginia's dress and shawl?" asked Mrs. Stone, as
we drove along the trail which wound over the prairie, in disregard of
section lines, as all roads did then. The judge and I both looked at
Virginia again.
"They're old persimmons," commented the judge. "You'll be the belle of
the ball, Virginia."
"They're awful purty," said I, "especially the dress. Where did you get
'em, Virginia?"
"They were found in Miss Royall's bedroom," said Mrs. Stone emphasizing
the "Miss"--for my benefit, I suppose; but it never touched me. "But I
guess she knows where they come from."
"They were Ann's," said Virginia, a little sadly, and yet blushing and
smiling a little at our open admiration, "my sister's, you know."
I scarcely said another word during all that trip. I was furious at the
thought of Buck Gowdy's smuggling those clothes into Virginia's room, so
she could have a good costume for the party. How did he know she was
invited, or going? To be sure, her sister Ann's things ought to have
been given to the poor orphan girl--that was all right; but back there
along the road she would never speak his name. Had it come to pass in
all these weeks and months in which I had not seen her that they had
come to be on speaking terms again? Had that scoundrel who had killed
her sister, after a way of speaking, and driven Virginia herself to run
away from him, and come to me, got back into her good graces so that she
was allowing him to draw his wing around her again? It was gall and
wormwood to think of it.
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