There
was a violin tone in her speech, the charm of which he could not escape.
When he fully realised what she had said, he laughed a short laugh, and
remarked that her attitude was one of affected coyness. She shook her
head. Then he teased her about going with young Auffenberg, and asked
her whether real love affairs were just as disagreeable to her as those
related in novels.

The flaming blue of her eyes compelled him to look down. It was not
pleasant for him to admit, by action, that the expression in her face
was stronger than his own. She left, and did not allow herself to be
seen for a few days.

When she returned, he was naive enough to renew his banter. She took her
seat on the corner sofa, and looked straight into his face: "Do we
really intend to remain friends, Daniel?" she asked.

He cast a side glance of amazement at her, not because he was
particularly struck by her charming suavity and marked winsomeness, but
rather because the violin tone in her throat resounded more strongly and
clearly than ever. But it was quite impossible for him to give an
affirmative reply to her question without puckering up his lips and
putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

She said she had no desire to seem important in his estimation, that she
merely wanted him to regard her as different from other girls. She
insisted that he concede her one privilege if they were to remain
friends: he was not to talk to her about love, either seriously or in
jest. She remarked that for months the very word love had called up
ghost-like recollections. Why this was so, she said she could not tell
him, not now, perhaps years from now when both had grown old. She could
not do it, for if she endeavoured to refresh old memories or revive what
she had half forgotten, her whole past arose before her, flat, languid,
and insipid, easily misinterpreted by the person who heard the story,
however clear it might be to her. She repeated that this was the way it
was, and she could not help it. Once again she asked that he spare her
feelings on this point.

Her face took on a serious expression; it resembled an old picture.
There was something dream-like in her words.

"Well, if that is all you have on your mind, Eleanore, I am sure that
it will be easy for me to respect your wish," said Daniel. There was a
manifest lack of feeling in the kindness he displayed. It seemed indeed
that the secret to which she was attaching so much importance was far