It was not real when Schuyler
invited Hannaford and his two companions to crowd into the big car, and
be spun up the hill to Monte Carlo. He remembered the illumined look on
Mary's face (though it was gone now) and the faint ray of hope it had
sent into that secret place where his real self lived wearily.
XII
If Mary had died and waked up in another world, it could hardly have
been more of a contrast to her old existence than the new life at Monte
Carlo to the life at St. Ursula's-of-the-Lake.
And the Mary at Monte Carlo was a different person from the Mary at the
Scotch convent. She had a new set of thoughts and feelings of which she
would not have believed herself capable in Scotland. She would have been
surprised and shocked at them in another, a few weeks ago. Now she was
not shocked or surprised at them even in herself. They seemed natural
and familiar. She was at home with them all, and with her new self, not
even realizing that it was a new self. And she grew more beautiful, like
a flower taken from a dark northern corner of the garden and planted in
a sheltered, sunny spot.
She no longer thought of turning her back upon Monte Carlo in a few
days, and journeying on to Florence. She stayed, without making definite
plans; but she did not write to the convent. She knew that Reverend
Mother would not like her to be here, gambling, and it would be too
difficult to explain. There was no use in trying, and she could not bear
the thought of having to read a reproachful letter, when she was so
happy and every one was being so nice to her.
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