What right had he to suppose
anything of the sort? It was an impertinence. That there was another
sort of possibility--namely, of his becoming more attached to her than
was altogether desirable--did, however, occur to him once or twice. But
he shrugged his shoulders and put it by. After all, it was his look out,
and he did not much care. It would do her no harm at the worst. But very
soon all these shadowy forebodings of dawning trouble vanished quite.
They were lost in the broad, sweet lights of friendship. By-and-by, when
friendship's day was done, they might arise again, called by other names
and wearing a sterner face.
It was ridiculous--of course it was ridiculous; he was not going to fall
in love like a boy at his time of life; all he felt was gratitude
and interest--all she felt was amusement in his society. As for the
intimacy--felt rather than expressed--the intimacy that could already
almost enable the one to divine the other's thought, that could shape
her mood to his and his to hers, that could cause the same thing of
beauty to be a common joy, and discover unity of mind in opinions the
most opposite--why, it was only natural between people who had together
passed a peril terrible to think of.
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