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 glad that she was about to be established in life so successfully.

Larkington, looking as flushed and radiantly happy as Gladys should have looked, stood near her, his eyes fixed intently on her face, his whole expression rapt and exalted. No one could doubt, in looking at the man, that he was deeply in love. The face, which had before lacked animation, and had been characterized by Mrs. Craig as "stolid," was now full of life and expression. All this was marked by Charles Farwell as he stood out side, his back turned to the slow-heaving ocean, and his feet crushing the roses of the garden that Gladys loved. He saw, too, the entrance of Gray Grosvenor, and the bow he made to Mrs. Fallow-Deer, watched him approach Gladys, and fancied he could almost hear him speak to her. He would tell her, of course—she started just then, and a flood of color crept up her white throat and spread over her cheeks and brow; yes, Gray Grosvenor had told her of his return. It