Титан

A New Affection

           "ItseemstomeIamverystable,"shewenton."I’mcertainlysubstantialenough."

           Shelookedatherfull,smootharmlyingonherlap.

           Cowperwood,whowasfeelingallthedragofhersubstantiality,butinadditionthewonderofhertemperament,whichwassomuchricherthanAileen’s,wasdeeplymoved.Thoselittlebloodmoodsthatnowordsever(orrarely)indicatewerecomingtohimfromher—faintzephyr-likeemanationsofemotions,moods,andfanciesinhermindwhichalluredhim.ShewaslikeAileeninanimality,butbetter,stillsweeter,moredelicate,muchricherspiritually.OrwashejusttiredofAileenforthepresent,heaskedhimselfattimes.No,no,hetoldhimselfthatcouldnotbe.RitaSohlbergwasbyfarthemostpleasingwomanhehadeverknown.

           "Yes,butelusive,justthesame,"hewenton,leaningtowardher."YouremindmeofsomethingthatIcanfindnowordfor—abitofcolororaperfumeortone—aflashofsomething.Ifollowyouinmythoughtsallthetimenow.Yourknowledgeofartinterestsme.Ilikeyourplaying—itislikeyou.Youmakemethinkofdelightfulthingsthathavenothingtodowiththeordinaryrunofmylife.Doyouunderstand?"

           "Itisverynice,"shesaid,"ifIdo."Shetookabreath,softly,dramatically."Youmakemethinkvainthings,youknow."(HermouthwasadeliciousO.)"Youpaintaprettypicture."Shewaswarm,flushed,suffusedwithaburstofherowntemperament.

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