“I beg your pardon,” he said at length, nervously pushing back the hair from his brow; “I fear you will think me very thoughtless and selfish to weary you thus with my troubles.”
“No, Earle, I—am glad that you think me worthy of your confidence,” she answered, softly.
He looked at her in surprise.
How exceedingly beautiful she was, sitting there with her downcast eyes, the lovely color in her face, and the womanly sympathy beaming in every feature.
“Worthy!” he repeated.
“Yes, worthy,” she said, her lips relaxing just a trifle into a tremulous smile. “I would like to be your friend in all your troubles—maybe I could help you if you would trust me enough to tell me of them. I used to think there was no one like you when I was a wild and impulsive girl, and you were with Uncle Richard—you were always so upright so strong, and self-reliant.”
“You used to think that of me, Editha?” he said, flushing again and trembling.
If she had known how her words moved him—but she did not dream of his love for her.
He began to grow dizzy with the new, delicious hope that seized him as she spoke.
Could it be that this fair girl had learned to love him?