Her manner, as a
rule, was so plainly that of a friend only, that were it not for
occasional and furtive glances which he intercepted, he would deem
his prospects little better than Stanton's, in spite of all that
had passed between them. Even in these stolen, questioning, longing
glances, there was an element that trouble and perplexed him, and
the strange thought crossed his mind that when she looked most
intently she did not see Harold Van Berg, but an intervening vision.
Her mystery, however, rendered her only the more attractive, and
she seemed like a good angel that had come from an unknown world
concerning which she could not speak, and perhaps he could not
understand.
Her society was like a delicate wine, delightfully exhilarating
while enjoyed, but whose effect is transient. He was provoked at
himself to find how well he endured her absence, and how content
he was with the genuine friendship she was evidently forming for
him. Sometimes he even longed for more of the absorbing passion
which he saw had wholly mastered Stanton; but tried to satisfy
himself by reasoning that his love was in accordance with his nature,
which was calm and constant, rather than impulsive and passionate.
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