"Oh, when will Teresa come!" Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, would, as a mere matter of instinct, have said a kind word to her at that moment.

Not the vestige of a change appeared in Benjulia's impenetrable composure.

She might have been a man--or a baby--or the picture of a girl instead of the girl herself, so far as he was concerned.

He quietly returned to his question.
"Well," he resumed--"and what is love ?" Not a word, not a movement escaped her.
"I want to know," he persisted, waiting for what might happen.
Nothing happened.

He was not perplexed by the sudden change.