Snowdrops and Maidenly Delights

It being still considerably earlier than the period at which artists
and tourists are accustomed to assemble in Rome, the sculptor and Hilda
found themselves comparatively alone there. The dense mass of native
Roman life, in the midst of which they were, served to press them near
one another. It was as if they had been thrown together on a desert
island. Or they seemed to have wandered, by some strange chance, out
of the common world, and encountered each other in a depopulated city,
where there were streets of lonely palaces, and unreckonable treasures
of beautiful and admirable things, of which they two became the sole
inheritors.

In such circumstances, Hilda's gentle reserve must have been stronger
than her kindly disposition permitted, if the friendship between Kenyon
and herself had not grown as warm as a maiden's friendship can ever be,
without absolutely and avowedly blooming into love. On the sculptor's
side, the amaranthine flower was already in full blow. But it is very
beautiful, though the lover's heart may grow chill at the perception, to
see how the snow will sometimes linger in a virgin's breast, even after
the spring is well advanced. In such alpine soils, the summer will not
be anticipated; we seek vainly for passionate flowers, and blossoms
of fervid hue and spicy fragrance, finding only snowdrops and sunless
violets, when it is almost the full season for the crimson rose.

With so much tenderness as Hilda had in her nature, it was strange that
she so reluctantly admitted the idea of love; especially as, in
the sculptor, she found both congeniality and variety of taste, and
likenesses and differences of character; these being as essential as
those to any poignancy of mutual emotion.