Another Intermission

It was something of a surprise to Bressant, after his interview with
Cornelia, that she still continued to avoid him. But, after what she had
said to him, to set his mind at rest regarding the spirit and manner of
their intercourse, she felt an intuition that it would be as well he
should believe that she herself was not over-anxious to be on any terms
with him whatever.

Still, he often saw her, and always carried away a charming impression
of what he saw. Once, she had mounted a chair in the library, and was in
the act of reaching down a book from a high shelf, when he entered
unexpectedly. She turned, caught his eye, and dimpled into a mischievous
smile. All day he could not drive the picture out of his head--the
bounteous, graceful form, the heavy, dark, lustreless hair, the
fascinating face, and the smile. He had but just left Sophie, yet the
fine chords she had struck in him were drowned in Cornelia's sensuous
melody.

Again, one day, coming into the house, he chanced to enter the parlor,
and there sat Cornelia, in an easy-chair, her feet stretched out upon a
stool, fast asleep. He came close up to her, and stood looking. What
artist could ever have hoped to reproduce the warmth, glow, and richness
of color and outline? He watched her, feeling it to be a stolen
pleasure, yet a nameless something, surging up within him, compelled
him to remain. In another moment--who can calculate a man's strength and
weakness?--he might have stooped to kiss her, with no brother's kiss!
But, in that moment, she awoke, and perhaps surprised his half-formed
purpose in his eyes.