23/27 She had never, never suspected him of loving her. She had sent him her friendly messages from Venice in the simplest good faith; she had joined in his sister's praises of him without a moment's self-consciousness. His approval of her play in _Elvira_ had given her the same frank pleasure that a master's good word gives to a pupil--and all the time he had loved her--loved her! How strange! how incredible! Kendal followed, bent over her, listened, but no word came. She was, indeed, too bewildered and overwhelmed to speak. The old bitter fear and certainty began to assert itself against the overmastering impulse which had led him on. |