"The water doesn't look very warm," Maurice responded, following her
gaze.
"No, it isn't exactly summer yet," she replied lightly. "Do you know,"
she added, turning to meet his eyes, "I can't help thinking how
different this is from the last time we were together away from
Boston."
"When we were at Brookfield?"
"Yes."
"It is different; more different to me than you can have any idea of.
Then I was a cog in a machine; now I am my own master."
They walked to the end of the piazza, turned, and came down again. They
were facing the light now, and her face shone with the pale glow of the
declining day. In her black dress, with a soft shawl thrown about her,
she was dazzling; and Maurice found it difficult not to take her in his
arms then and there.
"It must have been a strange feeling," she observed thoughtfully, "to
know that you were not master of your own movements, but had to do as
you were told, whether you approved of it or not."
"Strange," he echoed, a sense of slavery coming over him which was far
stronger than anything he had felt while the bondage lasted, "it was
intolerable!"
"Yet you endured it?" she returned, regarding him curiously.
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