” Anna was silent. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. It was the size of my palm. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. She could tell that he probably wanted to kiss her, but she did not act upon the opportunity. Her eye met Miss Stanley’s understandingly, and she was if anything a trifle more affectionate in her greeting to Ann Veronica. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. Besides, I'm afraid her simple honesty will spoil any invented yarn.
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