as the
matter with her: this was the second inexplicable appearance of tears.
But it would take more than such little damp occasions to disconcert
him; and rather at random, but with sympathy and even tenderness in his
voice, he said, soothingly, "Do not mind it," "it" of course
representing whatever she pleased. Then, as the drops fell, "Why, you
poor child, you are really in trouble," he said, taking her hand and
holding it in his. Then, after a moment: "I do not know, of course, what
it is that distresses you, but I too, although ignorant, am distressed
by it also. For since yesterday, Anne, you have occupied a place in my
memory which will never give you up. You will be an image there
forever."

It was not much, after all; most improbable was it that any of those who
saw her risk her life that day would soon forget her. Yet there was
something in the glance of his eye and in the clasp of his hand that
soothed Anne inexpressibly. She never again cared what people thought of
her "boyish freak" (so Miss Vanhorn termed it), but laid the whole
memory away, embalmed shyly in sweet odors forever.

Other persons now came in sight. "Shall we walk?" said Heathcote. They
rose; she took his arm. He did not lead her out to the shadowed path
below the piazza; they remained all the time among the lights and
passing strollers. Their conversation was inconclusive and unmomentous,
without a tinge of novel interest or brilliancy; not one sentence would
have been worth repeating. Yet such as it was, with its few words and
many silences which the man of the world did not exert himself to break,
it seemed to establish a closer acquaintance between them than eloquence
could have done. At least it was so with Anne, although she did not
define it. Heathcote had no need to define; it was an old story with
him.

As the second dance ended, he took her round, as though by chance, to
the other side of the piazza, where he knew Rachel was sitting with Mr.
Dexter. Here he skillfully changed companions, simply by one or two of
his glances. For Rachel understood from them that he was bored,
repentant, and lonely; and once convinced of this, she immediately
executed the manoeuvre herself, with the woman's usual means of natural
little phrases and changes of position, Heathcote meanwhile standing
passive until it was all done. Heathcote generally stood passive. But
Dexter often had the appearance of exerting himself and arranging
things.

Thus i