This thought was the one, calm, sustaining help to her in all her work. And in this belief she was strong to take up any burden which might be laid upon her.
When she came to Shepardtown and met Burnham, she had been struck by the subtle, strange resemblance to Ralph which she saw in him. It was more than the mere resemblance of feature. It was the resemblance of expression, of looks, of the intangible essence of life.
From this point on, so long as she came in daily contact with Burnham, she was fascinated by this ever-recurring resemblance; sometimes she was half-persuaded that it was Leland who talked or sang to her, and she sat watching him in dreamy remembrance of the old days, before her mother or Ralph had sickened. As she grew gradually to believe that Burnham loved her, she thanked Heaven that a good man’s love was to brighten her life once more. When the veil was rent away, and she saw that Burnham was not the true, white-souled knight she had thought him, and realized that he was not the ideal she had believed and trusted in, she was surprised to find that she no longer loved him. And then she thought out the true solution.
On the night of Villard’s departure, as has been said, Marion had gone to the work she most delighted in—her work among the girls. There were classes to be overlooked, and her own special one in singing to be taught. She was half through the musical hour, when she turned suddenly towards the door. There stood Geoffrey Burnham.
Afterwards she remembered how little feeling the sight of him caused her. But then she said pleasantly:
“Oh, won’t you walk in and hear us sing? My girls have made decided improvement since you heard us last,” and she went on composedly with the class.
Burnham looked on wonderingly. As he watched this self-possessed young woman, his old passion flamed up within him. He had never cared for her as at that moment. When the class was over, she advanced toward him.
“Aren’t you going to shake hands with a fellow?” he said, holding out his own.
“Certainly,” she said, without the least emotion. He would have retained his hold upon her hand, but she withdrew it, saying:
“To what accident are we indebted for this unexpected pleasure?”