Explore "The Little Gray Lady" by Francis Hopkinson Smith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was not until Kate Dayton reached her father's gate that the spell wrought by the flickering firelight and the dim glow of the ghostly candle wore off. The crisp air of the winter night -- for it was now quite dark -- had helped, but the sight of Mark's waiting figure striding along the snow-covered path to her home and his manly outspoken apology, "Please forgive me, Kate, I made an awful fool of myself," followed by her joyous refrain, "Oh, Mark! I've been so wretched!" had done more. It had all come just as Cousin Annie had said; there had been neither pride nor anger. Only the Little Gray Lady's timely word.
But if the spell was broken the pathetic figure of the dear woman, her eyes fixed on the dying embers, still lingered in Kate's mind.