This Marrying by Margaret Culkin Banning

The hills were in their most magnificent autumn color. When the sun shone the masses of trees were almost unbearably brilliant. Scarlet and yellow shaded into orange and crimson and in all the riot there was not one discordant note. On the shadowy, misty days Horatia loved it best. Then the colors seemed a saddened glory, hinting at their own passing. And to see the leaves reflected in the lakes -- wonderful colored mirrors -- was the most wonderful sight of all. She loved to take Anthony's canoe and drift over the reflections, moving so silently and graciously that the movement seemed unreal. The time was coming when she must leave all this and she was clinging to her peace. It had been peace. Only lately had the old restlessness come to disturb her. Only lately had she begun to wonder what was happening in the city. Her weariness had passed and she was eager for life again. But as she made ready for action she realized that she must reconstruct in the light of what she had learned and that one of her first problems would be Anthony.

Anthony, slender and strong in his khaki clothes, bareheaded, energetic, full of life, Anthony kind and tender, Anthony brave and generous, Anthony controlled and yet full of fire, Anthony burning for life himself, intolerant of shabbiness or weakness, Anthony the aristocrat. There was no possible great criticism of Anthony. Little things, perhaps, Horatia would admit to herself, but as a man he showed few weaknesses. He had a great deal to offer and he was offering it in all but words. Marjorie could have told her that Anthony was not himself at all -- that the Anthony his sister saw sometimes was a frightened boy with all his self-assurance gone, saying to her: