Nathaniel Conklin

Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Nathaniel Conklin

She was standing one afternoon on the broad piazza, leaning against the railing, with color enough in her usually colorless cheeks as she watched the tall figure passing through the low gateway; he turned towards the watching eyes, smiled, and touched his hat. "You will be in again this week," she said coaxingly, "you can give me ten minutes out of your busy-ness." "Twice ten, perhaps." The light that flashed into her eyes was her only reply; she stood leaning forward, playing with the oleander blossoms under her hand until he had seated himself in his carriage and driven away; not until the brown head and straw hat had disappeared behind the clump of willows at the corner did she stir or move her eyes, then the happy feet in the bronze slippers tripped up-stairs to her own chamber.