In
Harriet herself there was no corresponding growth of cheerfulness or
good-nature. She was quiet, but with a quietness not altogether
pleasant; it was as though her thoughts were constantly occupied, as
never hitherto; and her own moral condition was hardly likely to be
the subject of these meditations. Julian, when he sat reading,
sometimes became desperately aware of her eyes being fixed on him
for many minutes at a time. Once, on this happening, he looked up
with a smile.
"What is it, dear?" he asked, turning round to her. "You are very
quiet. Shall I put away the book and talk?"
"No; I'm all right."
"You've been much better lately, haven't you?" he said, taking her
hand playfully. "Let me feel your pulse; you know I'm half a
doctor."
She drew it away peevishly. But Julian, whom a peaceful hour had
made full of kindness, went on in the same gentle way.
"You don't know how happy it makes me to see you and Ida such good
friends. I was sure it would be so. Don't you feel there is
something soothing in her society? She speaks so gently, and always
brings a sort of sunshine with her."
Harriet's lips curled, very slightly, but she said nothing.
"When are you going to see her again? It's hardly fair to let the
visiting be always on her side, is it?"
"I shall go when I feel able.
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