"It was very strange, wasn't it? and yet I don't wonder at it, somehow."
"It would have been stranger not to have been so."
"Why, how have you been hearing what I said?" suddenly exclaimed Cornelia, looking at him in surprise; "I've been almost whispering all this time!"
"Have you? It sounded loud enough to me. But I could hear you think to-night, I believe. Will it be so to-morrow, do you suppose?"
"To-morrow!" repeated Cornelia. "Dear me! to-morrow is my last day here."
"The last day!" echoed Bressant, in a tone of dismay. "Shall we find one another the same as to-night when you come back?"
"Why not?" responded she, with a resumption of cheerfulness. "I sha'n't be gone but three months."
So the conversation lingered along, until gradually the greater part of it was supported by Bressant, while Cornelia sat quiet and listened—a thing she had never done before. But the young man's way of expressing himself was picturesque and piquant, keeping the attention thoroughly awake. His ideas and topics were original. He plunged into the midst of a subject and talked backward and forward at the same time, yet conveyed a marvelously clear idea of his meaning. Sometimes the last word was the key-note that rendered the whole intelligible. And he had the bearing of a man all unaccustomed to deal with women—ignorant of the traditional arts of entertainment which society practises upon itself. He talked to Cornelia as he might have done to a man, and yet his manner showed a subtle difference—a lack of assurance—a treading in a pleasant garden with fear of trespassing—the recognition of the woman. To Cornelia it had the effect of the most soothing and delicious flattery; had he been as worldly-wise as other men, he could not have been so delicate.
He, for his part, gave himself wholly up to be fascinated and absorbed by the lovely woman at his side. Did a thought of danger intrude, the whisper, "Only for to-night, only for to-night!" sufficed to banish it. Yet another day, and he would return to the old life once more.