He came close up to her, and stood looking. What
artist could ever have hoped to reproduce the warmth, glow, and richness
of color and outline? He watched her, feeling it to be a stolen
pleasure, yet a nameless something, surging up within him, compelled
him to remain. In another moment--who can calculate a man's strength and
weakness?--he might have stooped to kiss her, with no brother's kiss!
But, in that moment, she awoke, and perhaps surprised his half-formed
purpose in his eyes.
She was too clear-headed to regret having awaked, for she saw that he
regretted it. And, because he did not venture, she being awake, to take
the kiss, she knew he was no brother, and knew not what it was to be
one. So she put on a look of annoyance, and told him petulantly to go
about his business. Off he went, and passed his hour with Sophie, who
was as lovely, as fresh, and as purely transparent as ever. But some
turbid element had been stirred in Bressant's depths, which spoiled his
enjoyment for that day, making him moody and silent.
Such little incidents--there were many of them--were far too simple and
natural to be the work of deliberation and forethought. But Cornelia was
disposed to use them, when they did occur, to her best possible
advantage, and therefore they acquired potency to affect Bressant.
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