Rose dared not ask questions on so delicate a topic, but she remembered in a
flash Miss Dix's heavy eyebrows, snapping eyes, and high color. Claude seemed
very happy that Rose had come to Boston, though he was surprised, knowing what
a trial his aunt must be, now that she was so helpless. It was unfortunate,
also, that Rose could not go on excursions without leaving his aunt alone, or
he should have been glad to offer his escort. He pressed her hand when he left
her at her door, telling her she could never realize what a comfort her
friendship was to him; could never imagine how thankful he was that she had
courageously freed herself from ties that in time would have made her
wretched. His heart was full, he said, of feelings he dared not utter; but in
the near future, when certain clouds had rolled by, he would unlock its
treasures, and then--but no more tonight: he could not trust himself.
Rose felt as if she were assuming one of the characters in a mysterious
romance, such as unfolded itself only in books or in Boston; but thrilling as
it was, it was nevertheless extremely unsatisfactory.
Convinced that Claude Merrill was passionately in love with her, one of her
reasons for coming to Boston had been to fall more deeply in love with him,
and thus heal some, at least, of the wounds she had inflicted.
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