One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Vite, I pray you. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. They were bathing in the stream. Then, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. The softly glittering summer stars! She saw them shining over mountains of snow, over valleys of haze and warm darkness. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous.
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