The color had left her face and her hand trembled visibly
against the curtain.
"What's the matter?" cried Cropsie; "are you ill? Did you dance too
long?"
"It's nothing, I'm all right. That is I will be--"
"Can't I get you some water, or an ice, or call Mrs. Sequin?"
"No, no, please! It's nothing. I'll slip off to the dressing-room
until I feel better. I can go through here up the side stairs."
"Wait, I'll go with you. You are as white as if you'd seen a ghost!"
But before he could join her she had disappeared into mysterious
regions where he dared not follow.
CHAPTER XVII
During the course of that Christmas night, there was one member of the
Sequin household who failed to thrill with the holiday spirit, and
whose depression steadily increased as the evening wore on. The great
occasion of which Uncle Jimpson had dreamed all his life, had at last
arisen, and instead of being allowed to rise with it, and prove his
indisputable right to butlerhood, he had been detailed to drive back
and forth to the station over that same humdrum Cane Run Road that he
and Old John had helped to wear away for the past quarter of a
century!
To be sure, a neat depot wagon and a spirited young sorrel had
replaced the ancient buggy and the apostolic nag, but these fell far
short of Uncle Jimpson's dreams.
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