She thought there was a trace of bitterness in his voice, but she answered, "Friends, surely, Alden."
"We've skirted this thing often, Nell, but you never seemed certain before."
"I didn't—I think I never was quite so certain before, Alden—but now I'm driven all one way."
"I believe that." He rose and spoke in a livelier manner. "But if you won't be wise for me, Nell, be wise for some one else. For God's sake feel a little worry about your health. I say you look unpromising at this moment."
"I've always been well," she insisted brightly.
"And, Nell, I've wanted to be so much more than a friend to you that my feelings are a bit blurred just now—but I believe I'll always do what a friend should."
CHAPTER XIX
THE UNBLAZED WAY
EWING was loath to sleep that night, for in sleep he must leave the thought of her who, having been only a picture to him, had come suddenly to life. The magic would have seemed no greater if his own mother had issued livingly from the canvas. How it had happened he knew not, but this woman was all at once the living spring of his life. The thought of her was a golden mist enveloping him. He did not once call it love, but he thought of the gracious women he had loved in books, and knew she was all of them in one.
And once he had been almost careless in her presence! How he marveled at that now, when he knew that henceforth every approach to her would be an event. He shuddered at the memory of what he had been saved from—that swift brute impulse to hold her close against his breast. Must he feel that always—fight it always, to be blasted if he lost? At least in his own secret world he was free to treasure each memory of her dearness. And he could make her glad. He could work as man had not worked before. He could make her a little glad.