She paused, turned her face to the breeze, and seemed to forget she was not alone. Clarence Ensign eyed her with astonishment; he had never heard her speak like this; the earnest side of her great nature had never been turned towards him before, and he felt himself shrink into insignificance in its presence. What was he that he should pluck a star from the heavens, to buckle on his breast! Wealth and position were a match for beauty great as hers, and a kind heart current coin all the world over, for a gentle disposition and a loving nature; but for this—He turned away and in his abstraction switched his foot with his cane.
“Then it was in New York that I met Cicely,” exclaimed Paula.
He shook off his broodings, turned with a manful gesture, and met her sweet unfathomable eye, so brilliant with enthusiasm a moment ago, but at this instant so softly deep and tender.
“And the friendship of Miss Stuyvesant is a precious thing to you?” said he.
“Few things are more so,” was her reply.
He bit his lip and his brow grew lighter. After all, great souls frequently cling to those of lesser calibre, provided they are true and unflawed. He would not be discouraged. But his tone when he spoke had acquired a reverence that did not lessen its music. “You are, then, one of the few women who believe in friendship?”
“As I believe in heaven.”
Looking at her, he took off his hat. Her eye stole to his serious countenance. “Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied,” said he.
“Are friends so rare?”
“Such friends are,” said he.