His face, which had been so
much against him hitherto, was at last in his favour; it showed so
plainly that when he looked at her more softly or held her hand longer
than is customary, he was really thinking of that other of whom she
was the image. Or if it did not precisely show that, it suggested
something or other of that nature which did just as well. There was a
sweet something between them which brought them together and also
kept them apart; it allowed them to go a certain length, while it was
also a reason why they could never, never exceed that distance; and
this was an ideal state for Tommy, who could be most loyal and tender
so long as it was understood that he meant nothing in particular. She
was the right kind of girl, too, and admired him the more (and perhaps
went a step further) because he remained so true to Felicity's memory.
You must not think him calculating and cold-blooded, for nothing could
be less true to the fact. When not engaged, indeed, on his new work,
he might waste some time planning scenes with exquisite ladies, in
which he sparkled or had a hidden sorrow (he cared not which); but
these scenes seldom came to life. He preferred very pretty girls to be
rather stupid (oh, the artistic instinct of the man!), but instead of
keeping them stupid, as he wanted to do, he found himself trying to
improve their minds.
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