She could hear the hum of the voices and could almost distinguish the words being said.
"If Stephen Verne is not a downright fool he will straighten matters up yet," thought the woman as she put away the work-basket and began to plan work for the following day.
Conversation still went on briskly and Mr. Verne seemed himself once more. His burden felt light in the presence of the young lawyer and from the depths of his soul he longed for a closer intimacy—that bond of true sympathy which cements hearts forever.
Phillip Lawson partly realized the fact: the barriers of conventionalism were fearlessly torn down as he took courage to speak out.
"Mr. Verne you do not surely think that a man of sense can be blind to the inestimable and rare qualities which he sees in Miss Verne's character. If we had more woman like her what a different world it would be!"
"God bless you, my boy," said Mr. Verne fervently.
"Amen," responded a voice from another apartment but unheard in the parlor.
What invisible, subtle power prevented the young man from falling on his knees and confessing his love for the pure Marguerite?
What invisible presence laid a pressure upon Phillip Lawson's lips and sealed them fast?
What invisible force turned the conversation into another and entirely different source, yet did not weaken the bond already established.