"Why, simply
that we should be friends, like any others, very dear, dear
friends, with the only kind of friendship that nature makes
possible between men and women."
She said it so softly, with some womanly gentleness, yet with such
lofty candor, that Alan couldn't help admiring her more than ever
before for her translucent simplicity, and directness of purpose.
Yet her suggestion frightened him. It was so much more novel to
him than to her. Herminia had reasoned it all out with herself, as
she truly said, for years, and knew exactly how she felt and
thought about it. To Alan, on the contrary, it came with the shock
of a sudden surprise, and he could hardly tell on the spur of the
moment how to deal with it. He paused and reflected. "But do you
mean to say, Herminia," he asked, still holding that soft brown
hand unresisted in his, "you've made up your mind never to marry
any one? made up your mind to brave the whole mad world, that can't
possibly understand the motives of your conduct, and live with some
friend, as you put it, unmarried?"
"Yes, I've made up my mind," Herminia answered, with a faint tremor
in her maidenly voice, but with hardly a trace now of a traitorous
blush, where no blush was needed.
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