The American Claimant


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CHAPTER XXI.  
She had made everything comfortable for the artist; there was no further  
pretext for staying. So she said she would go, now, and asked him to  
summon the servants in case he should need anything. She went away  
unhappy; and she left unhappiness behind her; for she carried away all  
the sunshine. The time dragged heavily for both, now. He couldn't paint  
for thinking of her; she couldn't design or millinerize with any heart,  
for thinking of him. Never before had painting seemed so empty to him,  
never before had millinerizing seemed so void of interest to her. She  
had gone without repeating that dinner-invitation--an almost unendurable  
disappointment to him. On her part-well, she was suffering, too; for she  
had found she couldn't invite him. It was not hard yesterday, but it was  
impossible to-day. A thousand innocent privileges seemed to have been  
filched from her unawares in the past twenty-four hours. To-day she felt  
strangely hampered, restrained of her liberty. To-day she couldn't  
propose to herself to do anything or say anything concerning this young  
man without being instantly paralyzed into non-action by the fear that he  
might "suspect." Invite him to dinner to-day? It made her shiver to  
think of it.  
And so her afternoon was one long fret. Broken at intervals. Three  
times she had to go down stairs on errands--that is, she thought she had  
to go down stairs on errands. Thus, going and coming, she had six  
glimpses of him, in the aggregate, without seeming to look in his  
direction; and she tried to endure these electric ecstasies without  
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