Woldshire
had not acquainted her with his equal. All the world never would.
Their conversation was opened at last with a surprised smile at finding
themselves where they were--in the bare sitting-room at Brook, with the
western light shining on them through the vine-trellised lattices after
four years of growth and experience. How often had Bessie made a
picture in her day-dreams of their next meeting here since she went
away! In this hour, in this instant, love was new-born in both their
hearts. They saw it, each in the other's eyes--heard it, each in the
other's voice. Tears came with Bessie's sudden smile. She trembled and
sighed and laughed, and said she did not know why she was so foolish.
Harry was foolish too as he made her some indistinct plea about being so
glad. And a red spot burned on his own cheek as he dwelt on her
loveliness. Once more they were silent, then both at once began to talk
of people and things indifferent, coming gradually round to what
concerned themselves.
Harry Musgrave spoke of his friend Christie and his profession
relatively to his own: "Christie has distinguished himself already.
There are houses in London where the hostess has a pride in bringing
forward young talent. Christie got the _entree_ of one of the best at
the beginning of his career, and is quite a favorite. His gentleness is
better than conventional polish, but he has taken that well too. He is a
generous little fellow, and deserves the good luck that has befallen
him.
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