“I 'm sincerely glad to hear you say so,” said she, trying to seem grave.
“And is your brother much of an invalid?”
“Not now. The damp climate of Ireland gave him headaches; but he rarely has them here.”
“Ah, and you have such a quiet way of moving about; that gentle gliding step, so soothing to the sick. Oh, you don't know what a boon it is; and the common people never have it, nor can they acquire it. When you went to ring the bell, I said to myself, 'That 's it,—that's what all the teaching in the world cannot impart.'”
“You will make me very vain, Sir Marcus. All the more that you give me credit for merits I never suspected.”
“Have you a cold hand?” asked he, with a look of eagerness.
“I really don't know. Perhaps I have.”
“If I might dare. Ah,” said he, with much feeling, as he touched her hand in the most gentle manner—“ah! that is the greatest gift of nature A small hand, perfect in form, beautiful in color, and cold as marble.”
Julia could resist no longer, but laughed out one of those pleasant merry laughs whose music make an echo in the heart.
“I know well enough what you are saying to yourself. I think I hear you muttering, 'What an original, what a strange creature it is;' and so I am, I won't deny it. One who has been an invalid for eighteen years; eighteen years passed in the hard struggle with an indolent alimentary system, for they say it 's no more. There 's nothing organic; nothing whatever. Structurally, said Dr. Boreas of Leamington, structurally you are as sound as a roach. I don't fully appreciate the comparison; but I take it the roach must be a very healthy fish. Oh, here's your brother coming across the garden. I wish he had not come just yet; I had a—no matter, perhaps you 'd permit me to have a few words with you to-morrow?”