“He looks like a man who has seen a great deal of trouble,” said the sister.
Yvonne’s laugh faded, and a great seriousness came into her eyes.
“Awful trouble,” she said in a very low and earnest voice.
“Perhaps that makes him different from other men,” said the sister, taking her hand and smoothing it.
“Perhaps,” replied Yvonne.
It was a new light, quick and clear, flashed upon their relations. Her woman’s instinct clamoured for confirmation.
“Do you think that if he had not this great trouble, he would necessarily have fallen in love with me, like the others?”
“It stands to reason,” replied the elder woman gently—“if he’s a man at all. And he is a man—one, too, that many women could love and be proud of.”
“Oh, thank you for saying that!” cried Yvonne, impulsively. “I am proud of him.” An imperceptible smile played over the sister’s plain, pleasant face. Her calling had brought her a certain knowledge of human nature, and taught her to judge by suppressions. This side-light on the inner lives of the two beings whose fortunes had long ago interested her, quickened her sympathies for them. She determined to keep them in view for the future—and with this intention she offered Yvonne opportunities for continuing the friendship.
“So you ’ll come and see me often,” she said at last. “I have n’t very many friends.”