CHAPTER XII.
A COURT BALL, AND THE MYSTERY SOLVED.
January, 1879.
WHATEVER I may think of George, I certainly cannot say that he is unforgiving. He treats me just as he has always done, in spite of the disagreeable scenes at which he has been present, and the rude speeches I have made to him. This goes to prove the truth of what I said about him, namely, that he cares too little about people and things in general to be unforgiving. He looks upon us all (except, perhaps, Judith) as toys with which to amuse his idle hours, and he would not hurt us any more than he would hurt his horse or his dog; in fact, his feeling for us is much the same as that which he has for his brown setter. I cannot think him capable of a deep love for any one. It is true that his eyes—which are generally the coldest I have ever seen—warm up wonderfully sometimes, and his smile is all the sweeter for being so rare; and it may be that I am prejudiced against him, as Mr. Thurber suggested. The idea of Judith's caring for him makes me very unhappy.
Sacha has nearly fallen out of my good graces, he is so foolish. Instead of going to work like a man, and
