It's his good-nature, his
sense of honour. I think all the better of him for it. When he
understands that I'm in earnest, we shall just be friends again,
real friends."
"Then you are in earnest?" asked Bertha, her eyelids winking
mirthfully.
Rosamund's reply was a very grave nod, after which she gazed awhile
at vacancy.
"But," resumed Bertha, after reading her friend's face, "you have
not succeeded in making him understand yet?"
"Perhaps not quite. Yesterday morning I had a letter from him,
asking me to meet him in Kensington Gardens. I went, and we had a
long talk. Then in the evening, by chance, I saw Mr. Warburton."
"Has that anything to do with the matter?"
"Oh, no!" replied Miss Elvan hastily. "I mention it, because, as I
told you once before, Mr. Warburton always likes to talk of
Norbert."
"I see. And you talked of him?"
"We only saw each other for a few minutes. The thunder-storm came
on.--Bertha, I never knew any one so mysterious as Mr. Warburton.
Isn't it extraordinary that Norbert, his intimate friend, doesn't
know what he does? I can't help thinking he must write. One can't
associate him with anything common, mean."
"Perhaps his glory will burst upon us one of these days," said
Bertha.
"It really wouldn't surprise me. He has a remarkable face--the
kind of face that suggests depth and force. I am sure he is very
proud. He could bear any extreme of poverty rather than condescend
to ignoble ways of earning money.
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