CONFIDENCE
"Not of pleasure!" said Bernard. He felt this to be a venturesome, and from the point of view of taste, perhaps a reprehensible, remark; but he made it because he was now feeling his ground, and it seemed better to make it gravely than with assumed jocosity.
"Great surprises are, to me, never pleasures," Angela answered; "I am not fond of shocks of any kind. The pleasure is another matter. I have not yet got over my surprise."
"If I had known you were here, I would have written to you beforehand," said Bernard, laughing.
Miss Vivian, beneath her expanded parasol, gave a little shrug of her shoulders.
"Even that would have been a surprise."
"You mean a shock, eh? Did you suppose I was dead?"
Now, at last, she lowered her eyes, and her blush slowly died away.
"I knew nothing about it."
"Of course you couldn't know, and we are all mortal. It was natural that you should not expect—simply on turning your head—to find me lying on the pebbles at Blanquais-les-Galets. You were a great surprise to me, as well; but I differ from you—I like surprises."
"It is rather refreshing to hear that one is a surprise," said the girl.
"Especially when in that capacity one is liked!" Bernard exclaimed.
"I don't say that—because such sensations pass away. I am now beginning to get over mine."
The light mockery of her tone struck him as the echo of an unforgotten air. He looked at her a moment, and then he said—
"You are not changed; I find you quite the same."
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