eyes.

"Why can you not?" She hesitated. "And may I ask you, too, what you do
with yourself here?"

He evaded the question; he suddenly realized that his days were not more
amusing than hers, although they were filled up with racing and varied
employments--while the thought of his nights sickened him.

"I think I am going to make an immense change and learn to take pleasure
in the running brooks," he said. "Will you help me?"

"I know so little, and you know so much," and her sweet eyes became soft
and dreamy. "I could not help you in any way, I fear."

"Yes, you could--you could teach me to see all things with fresh eyes.
You could open the door into a new world."

"Do you know," she said, irrelevantly, "Sarah--my eldest sister--Sarah
told me it was unwise ever to talk to strangers except in the
abstract--and here are you and I conversing about our own interests and
feelings--are not we foolish!" She laughed a little nervously.

"No, we are not foolish because we are not strangers--we never were--and
we never will be."

"Are not strangers--?"

"No--do you not feel that sometimes in life one's friendships begin by
antipathy--sometimes by indifference--and sometimes by that sudden