The only other person
present was old Donald, the coachman, who was rather deaf and never paid
any attention to the chatter around him.
As he took his seat Tom gave a half-frightened glance into Eliza's face
and then turned red as she smiled coquettishly and said:
"Dear me! It's the young man who called me his dear Lucy."
"You--you're very like her," stammered Tom, unable to take his eyes from
her face. "Even now I--I can't believe I'm mistaken."
She laughed merrily in a sweet, musical voice, and then suddenly stopped
with her hand on her heart and cast at him a startled look that was in
such sharp contrast to her former demeanor that he rose from his chair.
"Sit down, please," she said, slowly. And then she studied his face with
sober earnestness--with almost wistful longing. But she shook her head
presently, and sighed; and a moment later had regained her lightness of
manner.
"It's a relief to have a quiet house for a day, isn't it?" she asked,
eating her soup calmly. "I'll be glad when the election's over."
"Have you been here long?" he asked, although Beth had told him of
Eliza's coming to Elmhurst.
"Only a short time. And you?"
"Two days," said he. "But where did you live before you came here?"
She shook her head.
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