“I admire him only the more for that,” said Hadria.
“Don’t let yourself care too much for him.”
“Too much!”
“Don’t fall in love with him, if I must be frank.”
Hadria was silent. “If one were to fall in love at all, I don’t see how it would be possible to avoid his being the man,” she pronounced at last. “I defy any creature with the least vestige of a heart to remain indifferent to him.” (Valeria coloured.) “Why there isn’t a man, woman, child, or animal about the place who doesn’t adore him; and what can I do?”
CHAPTER XI.
THE autumn was now on the wane; the robins sang clear, wild little songs in the shrubberies, the sunshine fell slanting across the grass. And at night, the stars twinkled with a frosty brilliancy, and the flowers were cut down by cruel invisible hands. The long dark evenings and the shrieking winds of winter were before them.
With the shortening of the days, and the sweeping away of great shoals of leaves, in the frequent gales, Miss Du Prel’s mood grew more and more sombre. At last she announced that she could stand the gloom of this wild North no longer. She had made arrangements to return to London, on the morrow. As suddenly as she had appeared on the scene, she vanished, leaving but one day to grieve at the prospect of parting.
It was through an accidental turn in the conversation, on this last day, that the difference between her creed and the Professor’s was brought to light, accounting to Hadria for many things, and increasing, if possible, her admiration for the unconscious Professor.