hip for its own immediate sake. She had, perhaps,
more direct and simple strength of character than he; but he made up in
other ways for the lack of it. Besides, he had not taken measures to
obstruct the natural keenness of his vision, and therefore saw, with
comparative clearness, how the land lay; an immense advantage over
Sophie, of course. But when he came to analyzing and classifying what he
saw, he found his intelligence at fault. That little episode with
Cornelia was the only bit of experience he had to fall back upon; and
that was more of a puzzle than an assistance to him.

Matters went on thus for about six weeks, at which time Bressant was
still confined to his room, although decidedly convalescent. It had
seemed to him for some time past that a crisis would soon be reached in
his relations with Sophie, but what the upshot of it would be he could
not conjecture. He only felt that at present something was
concealed--that there were explanations and confessions to be made,
which would have the effect of putting his young nurse and himself upon
more open and intimate terms. He looked forward to this culmination with
impatience, and yet with anxiety. One morning, when they had been
reading Spenser's "Faerie Queene," Cornelia's weekly letter was brought
in, and subsequently the conversation turned upon her.

"I used to think she was much more beautiful than you," remarked
Bressant, thoughtfully, twisting and turning the palm-leaf fan he held
in his hands. "I don't think, now, that I knew what beauty was," he
added, concentrating his straight eyebrows upon Sophie, in a
scrutinizing look.

"No one could be more beautiful than Neelie," said Sophie, with gentle
emphasis. "What has made you change your opinion?" As she spoke, she
closed the book on her lap, and leaned her cheek upon her hand. Some of
the sunshine fell upon her white dress, but left her face in shadow. It
struck Bressant, however, that the clear morning light which filled the
room emanated from her eyes rather than from the sunshine.

"I don't know that I have changed my opinion," said he, looking down
again at the fan; "I learn new things every day, that's all. Do you ever
think about yourself?"

"I suppose I do, sometimes; nobody can help being conscious of
themselves once in a while."

"About what you are, compared with other people, I mean."

"There's nothing peculiar about me; still, I may be different, in some
ways, from other people," ans