"Ah, what can I do?"
"Be a friend to him. Let him like you, let him love you! You see in him now, doubtless, much to pity and to wonder at. But let him simply enjoy awhile the grateful sense of your nearness and dearness. He will be a better and stronger man for it, and then you can love him, you can respect him without restriction."
Miss Searle listened with a puzzled tenderness of gaze. "It's a hard part for poor me to play!"
Her almost infantine gentleness left me no choice but to be absolutely frank. "Did you ever play any part at all?" I asked.
Her eyes met mine, wonderingly; she blushed, as with a sudden sense of my meaning. "Never! I think I have hardly lived."
"You've begun now, perhaps. You have begun to care for something outside the narrow circle of habit and duty. (Excuse me if I am rather too outspoken: you know I'm a foreigner.) It's a great moment: I wish you joy!"
"I could almost fancy you are laughing at me. I feel more trouble than joy."
"Why do you feel trouble?"
She paused, with her eyes fixed on our two companions. "My cousin's arrival," she said at last, "is a great disturbance."
