She would have enjoyed the sweet savor of his conversation, as did everybody who ever talked with him, but she declared within herself, "He shall never have a shadow of cause to imagine that I appropriate these visits to myself, and so be annoyed and cease to come—that is probably the reason he never inquires for me at the door. I do want him to come, he is such a comfort to Grandpa." With this tormenting suggestion, that some officious elf thrust into her mind, she allowed herself but seldom to remain in the room during his visits, and, depriving herself of a pleasure she would have enjoyed exceedingly, rarely joined in the conversation, only occasionally forgetting ugly suggestions of prim propriety, and putting in her vivacious word or merry laugh with such childlike abandon as made Mr. Thornton remember the maple leaves and the violets. He did not mean to be an artful man, but the truth was, that there was not a look or tone or motion of this maiden's but he noted and studied, no matter how absorbed he pretended to be with the subject in hand. It puzzled him not a little that she seemed to avoid him, for he too was accustomed to being considered a person of importance. And yet it was almost refreshing to meet a young lady who did not constantly seek his society, oppress him with attention and smile approval upon him. Always smiling, it was restful to meet this face that could be grave, and lips that could be silent, or speak of something besides trifles and inanities. And so the visits and the—studies—continued, twice, three times a week; if he were late, the old gentleman would fidget like a maiden waiting for her lover.