of this
made me eager to make amends for my fault, and so I began to rattle on
in a lively strain about a thousand things; and Miss O'Halloran,
seizing the opportunity thus held out of casting dull care away, at
once rose superior to her embarrassment and confusion, and responded to
my advances with the utmost liveliness and gayety. The change was
instantaneous and marked. A moment ago she had been constrained and
stiff and shy; now she was gay and lively and spirited. This change,
which thus took place before my eyes, served in some measure to explain
that difference which I saw between the Lady of the Ice and Miss
O'Halloran in her own home.

O'Halloran himself joined in. He was gay, and genial, and jocose. At
about nine o'clock Marion came in. She seemed dull and distrait. She
gave me a cold hand, and then sat down in silence. She did not say any
thing whatever. She did not seem even to listen, but sat, with her head
leaning on her hand, like one whose thoughts are far away. Yet there
was a glory about her sad and melancholy beauty which could not but
arrest my gaze, and often and often I found my eyes wandering to that
face of loveliness. Twice--yes, three times--as my gaze thus wandered,
I found her eyes fixed upon me with a kind of eager scrutiny--a fixed
intensity which actually was startling to encounter. And strange,
vague, wild, unformed memories arose, and odd ideas, and fantastic
suspicions. Her face became thus like one of those which one sees in a
crowd hastily, and then loses, only to rack his brain in vain endeavors
to discover who the owner of the face might be. So it was with me as I
saw the dark face and the lustrous eyes of Marion.

And now, 'pon my life, I cannot say which, one of these two excited the
most of my admiration. There was Nora, with her good-nature, her wit,
her friendliness, her witchery, her grace, the sparkle of her eye, the
music of her laugh. But there, too, was Marion, whose eyes seemed to
pierce to my soul, as twice or thrice I caught their gaze, and whose
face seemed to have some weird influence over me, puzzling and
bewildering me by suggestions of another face, which I had seen before.
I was fascinated by Nora; I was in love with her; but by Marion I was
thrown under a spell.

On the whole, Nora seemed to me more sympathetic. With all her
brightness and joyousness, there was also a strange timidity, at times,
and shyness, and furtive glances. An occasional flush, also, gav