168
	Last Night at Conworth�s
off between him and Sally, innocently accepting
the estimate of that young person taught her by
Sarah Conworth.    �She must be a very accomplish-
ed young lady,� said pretty Susan Hewitt, with 
latent self-disparagement in her tone.    I didn�t
tell her that she herself, in her good-humor, her
self-abnegation and patient devotion to another�s in-
terest was worth a hemisphere full of Sarah Ann
Boltons, but I told her that John�s old flame would
never love him or any man well enough to accept a
Canada home, if she could get one in England.
�If she were to get married, perhaps John might,�
my companion suggested..   I should have like to have
kissed her for her innocent self-betrayal of the
natural womanly hope within her.         But I dis-
trust that her being a widow militates against her
in John�s eyes.    Then she has no money.   Then
he talks occasionally to me of the Pettits, daughters
of a neighboring Canada-born farmer.           We
all sat in the sacred room, ordinarily closed
throughout the summer, over our whiskey and
nuts till 10, then to bed for my last night un-
der John�s roof, perhaps.
  16.  Monday.   Chores &c.    A sunny, pleasant
day.    John undertook to drive me to Paris.   George
Bolton who had thought of saving fifteen minutes
by riding on without bearing us company to William