Could she
have known to a certainty that her meetings on the common with Alan
Merrick had excited unfavorable comment among the old ladies of
Holmwood, the point would have seemed to her unworthy of an
emancipated soul's consideration. She could estimate at its true
worth the value of all human criticism upon human action.
So, day after day, she met Alan Merrick, half by accident, half by
design, on the slopes of the Holmwood. They talked much together,
for Alan liked her and understood her. His heart went out to her.
Compact of like clay, he knew the meaning of her hopes and
aspirations. Often as he sketched he would look up and wait,
expecting to catch the faint sound of her light step, or see her
lithe figure poised breezy against the sky on the neighboring
ridges. Whenever she drew near, his pulse thrilled at her coming,--
a somewhat unusual experience with Alan Merrick. For Alan, though
a pure soul in his way, and mixed of the finer paste, was not quite
like those best of men, who are, so to speak, born married. A man
with an innate genius for loving and being loved cannot long remain
single.
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