The other was the
experience, in especial, of Rowland's--what? Here Rowland always paused,
in perfect sincerity, to measure afresh his possible claim to the young
girl's regard. What might he call it? It had been more than civility and
yet it had been less than devotion. It had spoken of a desire to serve,
but it had said nothing of a hope of reward. Nevertheless, Rowland's
fancy hovered about the idea that it was recompensable, and his
reflections ended in a reverie which perhaps did not define it, but
at least, on each occasion, added a little to its volume. Since Miss
Garland had asked him as a sort of favor to herself to come also to
Switzerland, he thought it possible she might let him know whether he
seemed to have effectively served her. The days passed without her doing
so, and at last Rowland walked away to an isolated eminence some
five miles from the inn and murmured to the silent rocks that she was
ungrateful. Listening nature seemed not to contradict him, so that,
on the morrow, he asked the young girl, with an infinitesimal touch of
irony, whether it struck her that his deflection from his Florentine
plan had been attended with brilliant results.
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