The house was running beautifully.
Christmas, too, was drawing near. And though Roger knew that in Edith's
heart was a cold dread of this season, she bravely kept it to herself; and
she set about so determinedly to make a merry holiday, that her father
admiring her pluck drew closer still to his daughter. He entered into her
Christmas plans and into all the conspiracies which were whispered about
the house. Great secrets, anxious consultations, found in him a ready
listener.
So passed three blessed quiet weeks, and he had high hopes for the winter.
CHAPTER XXXI
If there were any cloud upon his horizon, it was the thought of Laura. She
had barely been to the house since Edith had come back to town; and at
times, especially in the days when things had looked dark for Roger, he had
caught himself reproaching this giddy-gaddy youngest child, so engrossed in
her small "menage" that apparently she could not spare a thought for her
widowed sister. Laura on her return from abroad had brought as a gift for
Edith a mourning gown from Paris, a most alluring creation--so much so, in
fact, that Edith had felt it simply indecent, insulting, and had returned
it to her sister with a stilted note of thanks. But Roger did not know of
this. There were so many ways, he thought, in which Laura might have been
nice to Edith. She had a gorgeous limousine in which she might so easily
have come and taken her sister off on little trips uptown.
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