"Oh, Blossom, Blossom!" he said, and when he spoke her name it
sounded as if he spoke the name of one dead.
After a little the worst sting passed away. He refused to believe
long that Blossom would be ashamed of him; he knew she would not.
Three years could not so alter her loyal nature--no, nor ten
times three years. But she would be changed--she would have
grown away from him in those three busy, brilliant years.
His companionship could no longer satisfy her.
How simple and childish he had been to expect it!
She would be sweet and kind--Blossom could never be anything else.
She would not show open discontent or dissatisfaction;
she would not be like Lauretta Bradley; but it would be there,
and he would divine it, and it would break his heart.
Mrs. Blewett was right. When he had given Blossom up
he should not have made a half-hearted thing of his sacrifice--
he should not have bound her to come back to him.
He walked about in his little garden until late at night,
under the stars, with the sea crooning and calling to him
down the slope. When he finally went to bed he did not sleep,
but lay until morning with tear-wet eyes and despair in his heart.
All the forenoon he went about his usual daily work absently.
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