While
she was bright, amusing, gay, there was back of it all a certain
reserve that forbade familiarity,--sufficient, indeed, to inspire
unexampled caution on his part. She invited friendship but not
familiarity; she demanded respect rather than admiration.
He was not slow in arriving at the conclusion that she knew men.
She knew how to fence with them. He was distinctly aware of this.
Other men, of course, had been in love with her; other men no doubt
had dashed their hopes upon the barrier in their haste to seize the
treasure. It was inconceivable that one so lovely, so desirable,
so utterly feminine should fail to inspire in all men that which
she inspired in him. The obvious, therefore, was gratifying. Granted
that she had had proposals, here was the proof that the poor fools
who laid their hearts at her feet had gone about it clumsily. Such
would not be the case with him. Oh no! He would bide his time, he
would watch for the first break in her enchanted armour,--and then
the conquest!
There were times, of course, when he came near to catastrophe,--times
when he was almost powerless to resist the passion that possessed
him. These were the times when he realized how easy it would have
been to join that sad company of fools in the path behind her.
He had no real misgivings. He felt confident of winning. True, her
moods puzzled him at times, but were they not, after all, omens of
good fortune? Were they not indications of the mysterious changes
that were taking place in her? And the way was clear.
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