Cornelia took her breath once or twice, and then bit it off on her under
lip, as if about to say something, and afterward hesitating about it.
"I don't quite understand you," she managed to get out at last; "do
you--forgive me if I'm wrong--but perhaps you're thinking of that
time--when--just before I went away?"
Saying this, she drooped her eyes in a confusion, which, because more
than half of it was genuine, made her look very fascinating. Nothing is
more seductive than a little truth. As Bressant looked at her, and
thought of what lie had done at that last interview, soft thrills crept
sweetly through his blood, and he felt a most extraordinary tenderness
for her.
"I've often thought of it," answered he, in a tone which did not belie
his words.
"Well--so have I, to tell the truth!" rejoined Cornelia, looking up for
a moment with glowing candor. "But we won't either of us think of it any
more, will we? It seems very long ago, now; and it'll never be again,
and we ought to forget it ever was at all. But, oh! most of all, you
must forget it if it will ever be a reason for your disliking me, or
wishing not to see me! I know how disagreeable it must be to you to
think of it now."
Did Cornelia know what she was about? had she netted beforehand all the
meshes of this web she was throwing over him? the admirable mixture of
frankness and subtlety, nature and art--must it not have been planned
and calculated beforehand, to bewilder and mislead?--It may well be
doubted.
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