Bressant

The conceit of her ideal crusade against Bressant's shortcomings blinded

Sophie to what she could not otherwise have helped seeing--that she

enjoyed his companionship 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," answered Sophie, with simplicity.

"I can judge better about that than you; there was some use in deafness,

and being alone, and thinking only of fame, and such things."