"Have you told any one about it?" I asked. "No," said she, "not a soul." "_He_ is my most intimate friend," said I, "but I have kept this secret from him. He knows nothing about it." "Of course he does not," said she, "how was it possible for you to tell him? This is our secret." I cannot tell the soft, sweet, and soothing consolation which penetrated my inmost soul at these words. Though few, they had a world of meaning. I noticed with delight the cool indifference with which she spoke of _him_. Had she expressed contempt, I should not have been so well pleased. Perfect indifference was what I wanted, and what I found. Then, again, she acknowledged me as the only partner in her secret, thus associating me with herself in one memorable and impressive way. Nor yet did she ask any questions as to whom I meant. Her indifference to him was so great that it did not even excite curiosity as to how I had found out who he was. She was content to take my own statement without any questions or observations. And there, as the flickering light of the coal-fire sprang up and died out; as it threw from time to time the ruddy glow of its uprising flames upon her, she stood before me--a vision of perfect loveliness --like a goddess to the devotee, which appears for an instant amid the glow of some mysterious light, only to fade out of sight a moment after. The rare and perfect grace of her slender figure, with its dark drapery, fading into the gloom below--the fair outline of her face--her sad, earnest, and melancholy expression; the intense and solemn earnestness of her dark, lustrous eyes--all these conspired to form a vision such as impressed itself upon my memory forever. This was the full realization of my eager fancy--this was what I had so longed to see. I had formed my own ideal of my Lady of the Ice--in private life --in the parlor--meeting me in the world of society. And here before me that ideal stood.