Her material self, indeed, seemed so completely and
bounteously endowed as to leave little place or occasion for a soul. The
warm, rounded, fragrant, wholesome personality which met the eye,
satisfied it; the harmonious tumult of life, that thrilled in every
movement, was contentment to the other perceptions; the thought of a
soul, bringing with it that other of death, was cold and inconsistent.
Such mortal perfection loses its full effect, unless we can look upon it
as physically immortal: as soon as we begin to refine our ideas into the
abstract, we sully our enjoyment.
"But your mother must have given you some idea of what a sister would
be," continued Cornelia, presently.
"Would she? I wish I had one!" said the young man, unconscious that no
such desire had ever entered his head till now, and yet at a loss to
account for its presence. "Mine died more than twenty years ago," he
explained.
"The poor boy! I believe he don't know what a woman is!" murmured
Cornelia to herself, perhaps not displeased at the reflection that it
lay with her to enlighten him. "No wonder he looked at me as if I were a
mammoth squash, or something. I'm going down in the garden to pluck a
tea-rose bud," added she aloud. "Won't you come?"
"Yes," said Bressant, following her down the glistening granite steps
with an air of half-puzzled admiration.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75