CHAPTER VII.

I could scarcely sleep that night for eagerness and anticipation. Ever
since the afternoon when the vision of Miss Dudley appeared, to startle
me from my painting, in the little south parlor, she had been the
foremost figure in my brightest day-dreams, as often as, with little
Philip warm and slumberous on my knees, I could find time for
day-dreams. Accordingly, I had been more than wishing--longing--to see
her again; though I put off returning her visit, partly from real want
of time, partly from uncertainty about what was the proper etiquette for
me, and partly from the dread of dispelling some pleasant illusions, and
finding that the Miss Dudley of my reveries belonged to the realm of my
imagination rather than to that of my memory. I dreamed of her all that
night, when I was not lying awake to think of her; and when, in the
morning, I arose early to brush and brighten my somewhat faded black,
the keen autumn air, instead of chilling me, seemed but to whet and
sharpen my zest for my expedition.

Julia's toilet was not made when I heard the clatter of the recalcitrant
De Quincey backing the chaise out of his beloved, but little _be-lived_
in, stable. She sat up in bed, however, when I went in to kiss her, in
spite of Mrs. Rocket, turned me round to the window to see whether I
was looking my best, or, as she equivocally phrased it, "the best of
which I was capable," told me, that I had got a little _rouge_ the last
time I was out, and must ask Miss Dudley whether it was not becoming,
and hooked her forefingers into my naturally _gekraeuseltes_ hair, to
pull it into what she always maintained to be the proper _pose_ above my
eyebrows.

Then down I ran, and off I went, through the town and along the road,
between rocks and evergreens with here and there a gate among them that
marked the entrance to the earthly paradise of some lucky gentleman.

"Sha'n't we be too early?" asked I, fidgeting, for my prosperity
appeared to me, just now, too perfect to be permanent.

"No," said the Doctor. "They are early people at Barberry Beach,--not
Sybarites in anything, so far as I can judge. It is near nine. Miss
Dudley tells me I shall almost always find her visible by that time. If,
not hearing from you, she has made other engagements, you know she is
more likely to be at leisure now than later."

"She does not look well yet. What was the matter with her?"

"_Angina pectoris_. That is Greek to you, Katy. Pain in