Yet another glistering day! Each one warmer than the
last, and never a change in the wind! Presently he would retire for an
hour or two into his cool and darkened bed-room.
One little thing troubled his mind. There had been no reply to the
note--a kind of note of enquiry--which he had left at the villa Mon Repos
on the preceding day. Though he knew little of his cousin, he could not
help feeling anxious. She was all by herself in that lonely little
place, suffering--perhaps, and too proud or too shy to complain. Mr.
Eames' description of her had made him uneasy. Why should she look as
if she had seen a ghost? What could that signify? The bibliographer was
a level-headed person, by no means given to flights of imagination.
Imperceptibly, he felt, there had been established an under-current of
sympathy between himself and this solitary woman, whom everybody seemed
to like. She was different from the ordinary type; the kind of woman
whom a man could not help respecting. She contrasted favourably with
some of his recent female acquaintances who, however charming or witty,
dissatisfied him in this or that particular.
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