Sunday evening was the time, he
explained, for going over the week's work with his factory managers.
When Lucy came home the autumn was far enough advanced to smell of
burning leaves, and for the annual editorials, in the papers, on the
purple haze, the golden branches, the ruddy fruit, and the pleasure of
long tramps in the brown forest. George had not heard of her arrival,
and he met her, on the afternoon following that event, at the
Sharons', where he had gone in the secret hope that he might hear
something about her. Janie Sharon had just begun to tell him that
she heard Lucy was expected home soon, after having "a perfectly
gorgeous time"--information which George received with no responsive
enthusiasm--when Lucy came demurely in, a proper little autumn figure
in green and brown.
Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark eyes were bright indeed;
evidences, as George supposed, of the excitement incidental to the
perfectly gorgeous time just concluded; though Janie and Mary Sharon
both thought they were the effect of Lucy's having seen George's
runabout in front of the house as she came in.
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