"
The girl gave a curious, quiet smile. "I had," said she.
"YOU had!" exclaimed Arkwright.
"A woman always keeps a careful list of eligibles," explained she.
"As Lucy Burke told me he was headed for Washington, I put him on
my list that very night--well down toward the bottom, but, still,
on it. I had quite forgotten him until to-night."
Arkwright was staring at her. Her perfect frankness, absolute
naturalness with him, unreserved trust of him, gave him a guilty
feeling for the bitter judgment on her character which he had
secretly formed as the result of her confidences. "Yet, really,"
thought he, "she's quite the nicest girl I know, and the
cleverest. If she had hid herself from me, as the rest do, I'd
never for one instant have suspected her of having so much--so
much--calm, good sense--for that's all it amounts to." He decided
it was a mistake for any human being in any circumstances to be
absolutely natural and unconcealingly candid. "We're such shallow
fakers," reflected he, "that if any one confesses to us things not
a tenth part as bad as what we privately think and do, why, we set
him--or her--especially her--down as a living, breathing atrocity
in pants or petticoats.
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