The days and weeks that followed were to Dennis such as only come once
in a lifetime, and not in every lifetime either. A true, pure love was
growing up within his heart--growing as the little child develops in
strength and pleasurable life, and yet unconsciously to itself. It
seemed as if some strong magician's wand had touched the world or him.
Everything was transfigured, and no wonderland was more full of interest
than that in which he existed. His life was a waking dream, in which
nothing was distinct or definite, but all things abounded in hope and
happy suggestion. He compared it afterward to a tropical island of the
Pacific, a blissful fragment of life by itself, utterly distinct from
the hard, struggling years that preceded, and the painful awakening
that followed.

Even the place of his daily toil was pervaded by a beautiful presence.
For many days he and Christine worked together, and at last her eyes
had rested on, or her fingers had touched, nearly everything in the
store, and therefore all was associated with her. Throughout their
labors his quick sympathy and appreciation made him almost hands and
feet to her, and she regarded him as a miracle of helpfulness--one
of those humble, useful creatures who are born to wait upon and
interpret the wishes of the rich and great. His admiring glances
disturbed her not and raised no suspicion in her mind. She had been
accustomed to such for years, and took them as a matter of course.

She treated the young men whom she met in society with a courtly ease
and freedom, but her smiles and repartee ever seemed like brilliant
moonlight that had no warmth; and, while no restraint appeared, she
still kept all at a distance. There was a marked difference in her
intercourse with Dennis. Regarding him as too humble ever to presume