t we were cousins, and that makes all the
difference. And do you know who took my part?--auntie."

"Dear aunt! You will take some tea with me, will you not?"

I watched her handling the cups with those deft, graceful fingers, and
felt a desire to kiss them.

She looked at me now and then, but upon meeting my eyes her eyelashes
drooped. Presently she inquired how I had spent the evening, and what
impressions I had carried away. We spoke in a low voice, though the
sleeping-rooms were far enough away to make it unnecessary. There was
such confidence and heartiness in our intercourse as among relatives
who are fond of each other.

I told her what I had seen and noticed, as one tells a friend. I spoke
about the general impression the society of the country makes upon a
man that has chiefly lived abroad. She listened quietly with wide-open
eyes, happy to be thus taken into confidence. Then she said:--

"Why do you not write about all that, Leon? That I do not think
of such things is not to be wondered at; but nobody else here has
thoughts like these."

"Why do I not write?" I replied. "There are many reasons for it. I
will explain to you some time; one of them is that I have nobody near
me who, like you, says: 'Leon, why do you not do something?'"

After this we both became silent. I had never seen Aniela's lashes
veil her eyes so closely, and I could almost hear the beating of her
heart.

And indeed she had a right to expect me to say: "Will you remain with
me always and put the same question?" But I found such a keen delight
in skirting the precipice before making the final plunge, and feeling
that heart palpitating almost in my hand that I could not do it.

"Good-night," I said, after a short time.

And that angelic creature gave not the slightest sign that she had met
with a disappointment. She rose, and with the least touch of sadness
in her voice, but no impatience, replied: "Good-night."

We shook hands and parted for the night. My hand was already on the
latch, when I turned round and saw her still standing near the table.

"Aniela! Tell me," I said, "do you not think me a fantastic kind of
man, full of whims and fancies?"

"Oh, no, not fantastic; sometimes I think you a little strange, but
then I say to myself that men like you are bound to be different from
others."

"One question more; when was it you thought me strange the first
time?"

Aniela blushed to the tips of her ears. How pretty she look