Combining as she did the zeal of the prompter with the
impatience of the spectator, she had long since done her utmost to
pull up the curtain. She too expected to figure in the performance--
to be the confidante, the Chorus, to speak the epilogue. It may even
be said that there were times when she lost sight altogether of the
modest heroine of the play, in the contemplation of certain great
passages which would naturally occur between the hero and herself.
What Morris had told Catherine at last was simply that he loved her,
or rather adored her. Virtually, he had made known as much already--
his visits had been a series of eloquent intimations of it. But now
he had affirmed it in lover's vows, and, as a memorable sign of it,
he had passed his arm round the girl's waist and taken a kiss. This
happy certitude had come sooner than Catherine expected, and she had
regarded it, very naturally, as a priceless treasure. It may even be
doubted whether she had ever definitely expected to possess it; she
had not been waiting for it, and she had never said to herself that
at a given moment it must come. As I have tried to explain, she was
not eager and exacting; she took what was given her from day to day;
and if the delightful custom of her lover's visits, which yielded her
a happiness in which confidence and timidity were strangely blended,
had suddenly come to an end, she would not only not have spoken of
herself as one of the forsaken, but she would not have thought of
herself as one of the disappointed.
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