No, he knew
nothing of all this, and he was now in such desperate fear that he
dared not speak or move or do anything but stroke her hair with a
shaking hand, and stare over her head at the fire trying to clear his
mind. She had been silent also, but presently she spoke, putting up her
hand to pat the one that was stroking her hair.
"I am waiting, dear heart," she said softly, "waiting to hear what you
think of my Paul. I have been wanting so long to tell you; it was on
account of William that I waited. But you know now, and I am so glad--so
glad! Tell me what you think of him. There is no one but you who can see
all that he is. And there is no one but him who can see all that you
are. But you two, my dearest, are capable of appreciating each other.
And I am a happy, happy girl."
He was feeling faint and sick under the hopelessness of any struggle
between old love and young love. With every look of her radiant eyes,
with every gentle word that fell from her sweet lips, he was feeling
more and more how utterly useless would be any attempt to come between
her and her lover.
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