Mrs. Wragge recovered her spirits in the gayety of the
prospect--she amused herself like a child, by tossing pebbles into the
sea. From time to time she stole a questioning glance at Magdalen, and
saw no encouragement in her manner, no change to cordiality in her face.
She sat silent on the slope of the shingle, with her elbow on her knee,
and her head resting on her hand, looking out over the sea--looking
with rapt attention, and yet with eyes that seemed to notice nothing.
Mrs. Wragge wearied of the pebbles, and lost her interest in looking at
the pleasure-boats. Her great head began to nod heavily, and she dozed
in the warm, drowsy air. When she woke, the pleasure-boats were far off;
their sails were white specks in the distance. The idlers on the beach
were thinned in number; the sun was low in the heaven; the blue sea was
darker, and rippled by a breeze. Changes on sky and earth and ocean
told of the waning day; change was everywhere--except close at her side.
There Magdalen sat, in the same position, with weary eyes that still
looked over the sea, and still saw nothing.
"Oh, do speak to me!" said Mrs. Wragge.
Magdalen started, and looked about her vacantly.
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