ion of his love, even any slight
manifestation of it, might do untold harm. She was not ready for it yet
why, he could not have told.

The truth was, that his Undine, although in many respects a high-souled
woman, was still in some respects a child. She would have been merely
embarrassed by his love; she did not want it. She liked him very much as
an acquaintance; he was to her Tom's friend, or her doctor, or perhaps
Mr. Osmond's son. In this way she liked him, was even fond of him, but
as a lover he would have been a perplexing embarrassment.

He knew well enough that her frank liking boded ill for his future
success; but in spite of that he could not help being glad to obtain any
footing with her. It was something even to be "Tom's friend Brian." He
delighted in hearing his name from her lips, although knowing that it
was no good augury. He lived on from day to day, thinking very little
of the doubtful future as long as he could serve her in the present.
A reserved and silent man, devoted to his profession, and to practical
science of every kind, few people guessed that he could have any
particular story of his own. He was not at all the sort of man who would
be expected to fall hopelessly in love at first sight, nor would any one
have selected him as a good modern specimen of the chivalrous knight
of olden times; he was so completely a nineteenth-century man, so
progressive, so scientific. But, though his devotion was of the silent
order, it was, perhaps for that reason, all the truer. There was about
him a sort of divine patience. As long as he could serve Erica, he was
content to wait any number of years in the hope of winning her love. He
accepted his position readily. He knew that she had not the slightest
love for him. He was quite secondary to his father, even, who was one
of Erica's heroes. He liked to make her talk of him; her enthusiastic
liking was delightful perhaps all the more so because she was far from
agreeing with her prophet. Brian, with the wonderful self-forgetfulness
of true love, liked to hear the praises of all those whom she admired;
he liked to realize what were her ideals, even when conscious how far he
fell short of them.

For it was unfortunately true that his was not the type of character she
was most likely to admire. As a friend she might like him much, but he
could hardly be her hero. His wonderful patience was quite lost upon
her; she hardly counted patience as a virtue at all. His