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.
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