I never saw a prettier thing than the little lady, with her cool white
skin, and the faintest flush on her cheeks, and her eyes not less dark than
the boy's but lacking the sensitive depths of his.
The odd thing was that, although they were so engrossed each in the other,
both, I observed, looked also at me. It struck me as not the least strange
part of this charming drama that its hero and heroine, while completely
absorbed in their own sympathetic relationship, should be able to turn a
calm survey upon a stranger too. This gift made them the more memorable and
perhaps explains why, for all the rest of the day and at intervals in the
night and morning following, I thought of these young people, speculating
as to how they were getting on; and perhaps that is why, the next
afternoon, drawn by invisible wires, I found myself in the National Gallery
again.
Will you believe it?--they also were there. This is an absolute fact. There
they were, exactly as I had left them. And yet, not exactly, for I am
certain that there was a hint more of seriousness in the lady's glance and
a shade more troubled earnestness in his.
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