“Well,” she answered, with her low laugh, “it would hardly be gracious to say I do, when Kate needs me so badly,—and hardly true to say no.”
Lawrence recalled a remark of Dr. Kane’s;—how when, on one of his voyages, in their ice-girt winter quarters, the whole ship’s company, save himself, were prostrate below decks, and he with incredible strength and fortitude was literally doing everything, not even omitting to register regular observations of the instruments;—in the midst of that unsurpassable heroism among the polar solitudes, he felt at night a dissatisfaction with the day as having been spent to little purpose worthy of his powers.
Stella listened, and was still a moment before she answered:
“Yes, I can understand that.”
That was it. She could understand. She knew what he was talking about; she knew and cared. He had always remarked her peculiarly melodious, low voice; he thought now he had never heard one so expressive. It was never either loud or faint, but exquisitely modulated, like all her motions. He could say things to her; when he began to talk to Cora, his words came back upon him as in an echoing hall, and smothered him with the sound of his own voice. Stella Grayland, sitting composedly, saying little, stirred him like noble music,—made him strong and fervid.
They talked of many things, the dark background of his thought giving a sombre undertone to his part. They came back to music.
“You enjoy it as much as ever?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she answered; “I think it grows constantly upon you. One’s deficiencies become painfully clearer, and bad music seems to increase and become more of a trial. But it is a satisfaction to feel that one grows a little, taking the years together; and it is very pleasant to know that there will always be plenty to learn and enjoy.”
She ended with a little sigh.
He was looking at her, but he only said: