“But I thought that her smile was something like that of one who is taking medicine heroically, a sort of quinine-smile. “There is but one way if we do not wish to have this howling dervish in the family: we must exhibit, as the doctors say, a counter-irritant--that is, find Mel another lover. I am convinced that she will never voluntarily relinquish one romance except in favor of one more.” CHAPTER XXVII. CARL YORKE’S ORBIT. As Dick Rowan gained strength in those first days of convalescence, Edith perceived that he had changed toward her. The manifestations of this change were slight, she was not sure that he was himself conscious of them, but they were decided. It was not that he showed any unkindness, or even indifference, but his being seemed to be--scarcely yet revolving round, but--brooding round a new centre. He frequently became absorbed in contemplation, from which he recalled himself with difficulty, though always cheerfully. Not a tinge of pain marred the peaceful silence of his mood. It was like that exquisite pause we sometimes see in the weather, when, after a violent storm, the winds and blackness withdraw, and there comes an hour of tender, misty silence before the sunshine breaks forth. His eyes would turn upon her kindly, and, still looking, forget her, and she saw that something of more importance had usurped her image. He was decided and self-reliant, too, in some things, and seemed rather displeased than grateful for too much solicitude on the part of others. He put aside entirely the usual sick-room inquiries. “I am getting well,” he said, “and need not count how often I stumble in learning to walk again. My miserable body has received attention enough. Let us forget it, now that we may.” Edith began to read, in obedience to Father John, but the books she chose at first did not quite suit the listener. Even the _St. Theresa_ and _The Following of Christ_, which she found on his shelves, did not seem to be what he wanted then. She brought some of her books, but could see that his own meditations were more agreeable to him. “I do not like to find fault with a pious writer,” Dick said uneasily. “They are all good, but I have thought that some of them sometimes--” He broke off abruptly. “Edith, is there such a word as _platitudinize_?” “I do not think that it is in the dictionary,” she replied, smiling. “It is, then, an omission,” said Dick.