He could detect no furtive
glances, nothing to indicate that she had caught a glimpse of that
secret so interesting to every woman that she would look again,
though cold as ice toward the man cherishing it. Nor was there the
slightest trace of the constraint and reserve by which all women
who are not coquettes seek to check, as with an early frost, the
first growth of an unwelcome regard. Her manner was simply what
would be natural toward a gentleman she thoroughly respected and
liked, with whom her thoughts, for no hidden cause, were especially
preoccupied.
Why then had she looked at him so strangely the preceding evening?
Why had she apparently shrunk from the expression of his face, as
if she had seen there a revelation so sudden and overwhelming that
she trembled at it as a shy, sensitive maiden might in recognizing the
fact that a strong, resolute man was seeking entrance to the very
citadel of her heart? He felt himself utterly unable to explain
her action.
What was more, he was puzzled at himself. The sympathy he felt
for Miss Burton the previous evening had not by any means left him,
but it was no longer a strong and absorbing emotion. His pulse
was as calm and quiet as the breathless summer morning.
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