That little episode with Cornelia was the only bit of experience he had to fall back upon; and that was more of a puzzle than an assistance to him.
Matters went on thus for about six weeks, at which time Bressant was still confined to his room, although decidedly convalescent.

It had seemed to him for some time past that a crisis would soon be reached in his relations with Sophie, but what the upshot of it would be he could not conjecture.

He only felt that at present something was concealed--that there were explanations and confessions to be made, which would have the effect of putting his young nurse and himself upon more open and intimate terms.

He looked forward to this culmination with impatience, and yet with anxiety.

One morning, when they had been reading Spenser's "Faerie Queene," Cornelia's weekly letter was brought in, and subsequently the conversation turned upon her.
"I used to think she was much more beautiful than you," remarked Bressant, thoughtfully, twisting and turning the palm-leaf fan he held in his hands.