"To-morrow!" repeated Cornelia. "Dear me! to-morrow is my last day
here."
"The last day!" echoed Bressant, in a tone of dismay. "Shall we find one
another the same as to-night when you come back?"
"Why not?" responded she, with a resumption of cheerfulness. "I sha'n't
be gone but three months."
So the conversation lingered along, until gradually the greater part of
it was supported by Bressant, while Cornelia sat quiet and listened--a
thing she had never done before. But the young man's way of expressing
himself was picturesque and piquant, keeping the attention thoroughly
awake. His ideas and topics were original. He plunged into the midst of
a subject and talked backward and forward at the same time, yet conveyed
a marvelously clear idea of his meaning. Sometimes the last word was the
key-note that rendered the whole intelligible. And he had the bearing of
a man all unaccustomed to deal with women--ignorant of the traditional
arts of entertainment which society practises upon itself. He talked to
Cornelia as he might have done to a man, and yet his manner showed a
subtle difference--a lack of assurance--a treading in a pleasant garden
with fear of trespassing--the recognition of the woman. To Cornelia it
had the effect of the most soothing and delicious flattery; had he been
as worldly-wise as other men, he could not have been so delicate.
He, for his part, gave himself wholly up to be fascinated and absorbed
by the lovely woman at his side. Did a thought of danger intrude, the
whisper, "Only for to-night, only for to-night!" sufficed to banish it.
Yet another day, and he would return to the old life once more.