character.

She told me that her heart went out to Aunt Hildy at their first
meeting, and I felt convinced now there was something about this new
friend that no one save herself could detect, and whether it had shape
with her or not was a question.

Three weeks of Mr. Benton's stay had passed when this incident occurred,
and from that hour there was a marked change in his manner toward her.
I could see, ignorant as I was of the phases of life, how he was
attracted to her. This glimpse of her wondrous nature had opened his
eyes, and perhaps touched his heart. His age must be about hers, I
thought, and how strange if it should be that he loved her. But here I
run into a mist where nothing was plain. Days will tell the story, I
thought, and we were sure of days and changes while life lasted. It
became plain to me after a little that Clara felt the change in his
manner toward her, and in every quiet move of hers I detected the
disposition on her part to repel any advances. She gave him no
opportunity to be with her alone, and if by chance this happened, her
sweet voice would call "Emily, come in this way, we are lonely without
you," and her eyes would turn on me when I entered with a sort of
wistful glance. It always reminded me of a child looking confidently
into the eyes of its mother, expecting the help it was sure to find. I
hardly enjoyed this, for I knew Mr. Benton thought me old enough to
discern a little, and he must have believed us to be in league together,
whereas no word had passed between us on the subject until just before
Christmas, when Louis was expected.

Clara and I were sitting busily sewing and talking of the coming of "her
dear boy," when she let her sewing fall and sat as in thought a few