Lyndall looked up from her book.
"Like a little tin duck floating on a dish of water, that comes after a
piece of bread stuck on a needle, and the more the needle pricks it the
more it comes on."
"Oh, you are making fun of me now, you really are!" said Gregory feeling
wretched. "You are making fun, aren't you, now?"
"Partly. It is always diverting to make comparisons."
"Yes; but you don't compare me to anything nice, and you do other people.
What is Em like, now?"
"The accompaniment of a song. She fills up the gaps in other people's
lives, and is always number two; but I think she is like many
accompaniments--a great deal better than the song she is to accompany."
"She is not half so good as you are!" said Gregory, with a burst of
uncontrollable ardour.
"She is so much better than I, that her little finger has more goodness in
it than my whole body. I hope you may not live to find out the truth of
that fact."
"You are like an angel," he said, the blood rushing to his head and face.
"Yes, probably; angels are of many orders."
"You are the one being that I love!" said Gregory quivering. "I thought I
loved before, but I know now! Do not be angry with me. I know you could
never like me; but, if I might but always be near you to serve you, I would
be utterly, utterly happy.
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