It is true he was no more demonstrative, than with others;
his face held its quiet, passive look, and he spoke in much the usual,
quiet, even tone of voice. Yet Leonore was at first dimly conscious, and
later certain, that there was a shade of eagerness in his manner, a
tenderness in his voice, and a look in his eye, when he was with her,
that was there in the presence of no one else.
So Leonore ceased to puzzle over the problem at a given point, having
found the answer. But the solving did not bring her much apparent
pleasure.
"Oh, dear!" she remarked to herself. "I thought we were going to be such
good friends! That we could tell each other everything. And now he's
gone and spoiled it. Probably, too, he'll be bothering me later, and
then he'll be disappointed, and cross, and we shan't be good friends any
more. Oh, dear! Why do men have to behave so? Why can't they just be
friends?"
It is a question which many women have asked. The query indicates a
degree of modesty which should make the average masculine blush at his
own self-love.
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