The Mystery at Grassy Spring

For several weeks longer Edith continued taking lessons of Arthur,
going sometimes with Richard, but oftener alone, and feeling
always that a change had gradually come over her teacher. He was
as kind to her as ever, took quite as much pains with her, and she
was sensible of a greater degree of improvement than had marked
the days when she trembled every time he touched her hands.

Still there was a change. He did not bend over her now as he used to do;
did not lay his arm across the back of her chair, letting it some
times fall by accident upon her shoulders; did not look into her
eyes with a glance which made her blush and turn away; in short,
he did not look at her at all, if he could help it, and in this
very self-denial lay his strength.

He was waging a mighty battle
with himself, and inch by inch he was gaining the victory, for
victory it would be when he brought himself to think of Edith
Hastings without a pang--to listen to her voice and look into her
face without a feeling that she must be his. He could not do this
yet, but he kept himself from telling her of his love by assuming
a reserved, studied manner, which led her at last to think he
might be angry, and one day, toward the first of March, when he
had been more than usually silent, she asked him abruptly how she
had offended, her soft eyes filling with tears as she expressed
her sorrow if by any thoughtless act she had caused him pain.