Often, in the evening, when they sat outside conversing languidly in the dark, he felt that he must rest his forehead on her feet and burst into tears.
The professor's sister suffered from some little strain caused by the unstability of her own feelings toward Renouard.

She could not tell whether she really did dislike him or not.

At times he appeared to her most fascinating; and, though he generally ended by saying something shockingly crude, she could not resist her inclination to talk with him--at least not always.

One day when her niece had left them alone on the verandah she leaned forward in her chair--speckless, resplendent, and, in her way, almost as striking a personality as her niece, who did not resemble her in the least.

"Dear Felicia has inherited her hair and the greatest part of her appearance from her mother," the maiden lady used to tell people.
She leaned forward then, confidentially.
"Oh! Mr.Renouard! Haven't you something comforting to say ?" He looked up, as surprised as if a voice from heaven had spoken with this perfect society intonation, and by the puzzled profundity of his blue eyes fluttered the wax-flower of refined womanhood.