"Antony," said Miss Carr to me one day, "you are very young yet to think
of marriage."
"But it is not to be yet for quite a year."
"I am glad of it," she said, laying her hand on mine; and as I took it
and held it, looking up with a feeling akin to awe in her dark,
far-off-looking eyes, I could not help thinking how thin it was, and how
different to the soft, white hand that used to take mine years ago.
"We both think it will be wiser," I said, talking to her as if she were
an elder sister, though of late there had grown up in me a feeling that
she looked upon me as if I were her son.
"Marriage must be a happy state, Antony, when both love, and have trust
the one in the other."
I looked at her, feeling in pain, for I dared not speak, knowing that
she must be thinking of poor Hallett; and as I looked I could not help
noticing how the silver hairs were beginning to make their presence
known, and how much she had changed.
"You think it strange that I should talk like this, do you not?"