The autumn was mild, well into winter time, and by the end of November the transparent cheeks of the blind girl held an exquisite tinge of color, and her form had a new grace from the strength she had acquired in exercise.

We had grown to be dear friends, and the touch of her hand was a pleasure for which I waited eagerly from day to day.

Again I say thoughts of love for her had never entered my mind.

Perhaps their absence was because of my feeling that they could not possibly exist in her heart for me.
One evening in November, after the servants had all gone to bed, Sir George and I went to the kitchen to drink a hot punch before retiring for the night.

I drank a moderate bowl and sat in a large chair before the fire, smoking a pipe of tobacco, while Sir George drank brandy toddy at the massive oak table in the middle of the room.
Sir George was rapidly growing drunk.