fication that her six
months on a cheese-farm had returned Eleanor with an added charm of eye
and manner, for which he could not account; which he could not
immediately define. She was not expecting to see him this time, for she
started a little when he presented himself. He came with the same
pleasant expression that he had worn last night.

"Will you excuse me for remarking, that your winter has done you good?"
he said.

"Yes. I know it has," Eleanor answered.

"With your old frankness, you acknowledge it?"

"Willingly."

Her accent was so simple and sweet, the attraction was irresistible. He
sat down by her.

"I hope you are as willing as I am to acknowledge that all our last
winter's work was not good. We exchanged letters."

"Hardly, Mr. Carlisle."

"Will you allow me to say, that I am ashamed of my part in that
transaction. Eleanor, I want you to forget it, and to receive me as if
it had not happened."

Eleanor was in a mixture of astonishment and doubt, as to how far his
words might be taken. In the doubt, she hesitated one instant. Another
person, a lady, drew near, and Mr. Carlisle yielded to her the place he
had been occupying. The opportunity for an answer was gone. And though
he was often near her during the evening, he did not recur again to the
subject, and Eleanor could not. But the little bit of dialogue left her
something to think of.

She had occasion often to think of it. Mr. Carlisle was everywhere, of
course, in Brighton; at least he was in Eleanor's everywhere; she saw
him a great deal and was a little struck and puzzled by his manner. He
was very often in her immediate company; often attending upon her; it
constantly happened, she could not tell how, that his arm was the one
to which she was consigned, in walks and evening escorts. In a measure,
he assumed his old place beside her; his attentions were constant,
gracefully and freely paid; they just lacked the expression which would
have obliged and enabled her to throw them off. It was rather the
manner of a brother than of a lover; but it was familiar and
confidential beyond what those assume that are not brothers. Whatever
it meant, it dissatisfied Eleanor. The world, perhaps the gentleman
himself, might justly think if she permitted this state of things that
she allowed the conclusions naturally to be drawn from it. She
determined to withdraw herself. It was curiously and inexplicably
difficult. Too easily, too gracefully, too muc