He had no wish to hurt the girl, either as regarded her feelings or her prospects; nor was the danger, he told himself, a serious one.
She liked him immensely, of course, but she was unsentimental, like most women of her race, and would settle down happily enough when the time came.
He told himself these things with a secret, pleasant consciousness of a subtler element in their relationship; of unsounded depths in the nature of this girl who trusted him so completely, and whom he had so completely in hand. Nor did he hide from himself that she charmed him and pleased his taste as no other woman had ever done.
A man does not so easily deceive himself in these matters, and during the last year or two he had been fully aware of a quickening in his sentiments towards her.
Yes, Reuben knew by now that he was in love with Judith Quixano. The situation was full of delights, of dangers, of pains and pleasantnesses.
A disturbing element in the serene course of his existence, it added a charm to existence of which he was in no haste to be rid.
CHAPTER V.
Quand il pâlit un soir, et que sa voix tremblante
S’éteignit tout à coup dans un mot commencé;
Quand ses yeux, soulevant leur paupière brûlante,
Me blessèrent d’un mal dont je le crus blessé;
. . . . . . . .
Il n’aimait pas—j’aimais.
M. Desbordes Valmore.
Old Solomon Sachs awaited his guests in the drawing-room of his house in Portland Place.