Coldness or indifference could not have so assured her that her love was hopeless; and when she sat down to reply, the language of her heart was so unlike that which she must write as to make her feel almost guilty of deliberate deception.
Correspondence made him too vividly present, and she was learning that she had the power, not of forgetting him, but of so occupying her mind with tasks for his sake as to attain serenity.

The days were made short by efforts of which he deemed her incapable, and weariness brought rest at night.

But when she sat down with her pen, confronting him and not what she sought to do for him, her heart sank.

He was too near and dear, yet too remote, even for hope.
This emotion is, however, the most hardy of plants, and although she had often assured herself that she had never entertained it or had any reason to do so, almost before she was aware she found it growing in her heart.

Business still kept Graydon abroad, although a year had passed.