She stood still
and strained her eyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the
red fog would surely lift. Happiness, and her new love, they would
be strong enough to dispel the mist. There--already it was a shade
lighter! She almost thought that she could make out the brightness
of the fire. She went toward it and sat down on the bear-skin, holding
out her tremulous, excited hands. And with a sudden impulse toward
confidence she called: "Pete, O Pete! Come here a moment, please."
He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely
directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve
of his body holding itself at a distance.
"Pete," she said wistfully, "what can I do to make you love me?"
He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing.
"Are you jealous?"
"No, Sylvie," he muttered.
"Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I'd understand
you better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell me about
yourself. Haven't you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I
want--Pete--some day perhaps I'll be your sister--"
"Then he has asked you to marry him?"
He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone.
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