"I beg your pardon," said Peter. "I wasn't listening. Did you say Miss
Winthrop was married?"
"What were you smiling over?" said Leonore, in the same voice.
"I was thinking of--of--." Then Peter hesitated and laughed.
"Of what?" asked Leonore.
"You really mustn't ask me," laughed Peter.
"Of what were you thinking?"
"Of eyelashes," confessed Peter.
"It's terrible!" cogitated Leonore, "I can't snub him any more, try as I
may."
In truth, Peter was not worrying any longer over what Leonore said or
did to him. He was merely enjoying her companionship. He was at once
absolutely happy, and absolutely miserable. Happy in his hope. Miserable
in its non-certainty. To make a paradox, he was confident that she
loved him, yet he was not sure. A man will be absolutely confident that
a certain horse will win a race, or he will be certain that a profit
will accrue from a given business transaction. Yet, until the horse has
won, or the profit is actually made, he is not assured.
Pages:
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751