The magnificent pride of
male youth animated Louis. He had not a care in the world. Even
his long-unpaid tailor's bill was magically abolished. He was an
embodiment of exulting hope and fine aspirations.
Rachel stirred, dimly aware of the invasion. And Louis, actuated by
the most delicate regard for her sensitive modesty, vanished back for
a moment into the hall, until she should have fitted herself for his
beholding.
Mrs. Tams had come from somewhere into the hall. She was munching a
square of bread and cold bacon, and she curtsied, exclaiming--
"It's never Mester Fores! That's twice her's been woke up this day!"
"Who's there?" Rachel called out, and her voice had the breaking,
bewildered softness of a woman's in the dark, emerging from a dream.
"Sorry! Sorry!" said Louis, behind the door.
"It's all right," she reassured him.
He returned to the room. She was sitting upright on the sofa, her arms
a little extended and the tips of her fingers touching the sofa. The
coil of her hair had been arranged. The romance of the exciting night
still clung to her, for Louis; but what chiefly seduced him was the
mingling in her mien of soft confusion and candid, sturdy honesty and
dependableness.
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