"For a Prussian nobleman may be a Prussian boot-black for aught I know,"
he observed, "and without derogation to his dignity, no doubt, in that
land of pipes and fiddlers. But an American sovereign requires something
better than that when he gives away the hand of the princess, his
relative, and endows her with a goodly dowry. Every man, we feel, is a
king in America."
Our circle of society was much enlarged by Evelyn after our first year
of mourning had expired. She insisted on taking me with her in turn to
Washington, Boston, and Saratoga Springs, then at their acme of fashion.
Mr. Bainrothe, who had by this time glided back into his old grooves of
apparent sociability in our household, accompanied us, and did all in
his power, it seemed, to promote our enjoyment and success.
Yet it was astonishing what an icy barrier still remained between us
two, and how perfectly I managed, without a conscious effort, to set a
limit to his approaches, even while treating him with apparent courtesy
and confidence.
Something in his eye, his manner, had become extremely unpleasant to me
since our social relations had been resumed. There was a controlled
ardor in his expression of face and even in his demeanor that I could
not reconcile with his position toward me nor understand, and yet which
froze my blood in spite of my best endeavors to repel the thoughts
suggested.
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