“The basis of all friendship is affection,” argued Richard, lowering his voice as the music of a ’cello crept softly through the room. “And affection is a very hard thing to hold in check.”
She looked up at him with a smile on her lips, but an expression of sadness in her eloquent brown eyes.
“It is, indeed!” she almost whispered. Then, as if regretting the admission, she leaned back in her chair, and seemed to listen to the soft, throbbing harmonies that the piano and the ’cello begot as their tones met and mingled, as though they caressed each other.
Richard bent forward, and their eyes met again.
“Do you reject my—my friendship?” he whispered.
Suddenly he felt her hand in his; and she smiled as he pressed it, while her eyes brightened, and her cheeks flushed. Withdrawing her hand, she said, her voice hardly audible even as he bent his face close to hers:—
“Remember that there is another foundation-stone to friendship: it is unselfishness.”
The words, and the pleading tone in which they were uttered, combined to make her remark sound more like a prayer to his generosity than a statement founded on a time-worn truth.
“I will try,” whispered Richard earnestly, “I will try to be an ideal friend to you. I would rather have your friendship than the love of any other woman in the world.”
She smiled up at him gratefully, as though he had made a great sacrifice for her happiness. They say that Love is blind. Perhaps that is the reason that the little rascal is such a consummate liar. How can one expect a sightless imp, whose domain is youth, and whose throne is the heart, to wield his sceptre with absolute respectability? If he could see further, Cupid might behave better as a monarch; but the chances are, in that case, that he would be compelled to abdicate.