I doubt if anything could have awakened me from my reverie so suddenly
and so effectually as the measured slow accent which broke upon my ear
at this juncture.
"How do you do Amey?"
Simple enough: a mere conventional greeting if you will, but I felt it
vibrate through my whole system. I looked up and saw Mr. Dalton
standing before me. The way was narrow, and he had moved aside into
the deep snow to let me pass. Involuntarily, I stood and looked up at
him. I felt more kindly toward him than I had ever done before, I knew
not why. In some vague uncertain way he had been associated with my
recent thoughts, not asserting himself as any distinct feature in
connection with my cogitation, but underlying it with a merely
insinuated influence that made his presence felt in a secret,
undetermined sort of way. I had been wondering about him and
questioning his motives within myself as I plodded through the
sprinkled streets and now, he was standing before me, a real
personage, the substance of a dreamy memory of him which I had been
dwelling upon since my departure from the Merivales'.
When we had stopped and saluted one another an awkward silence ensued.
I felt as if he had read my secret in my tell-tale countenance, but
his face wore that passive look it always wore and his voice was calm
and commonplace as usual as he asked.
"Are you going home now?"
"Yes" I answered, "I have been visiting Alice Merivale. I had luncheon
with her and a little talk.
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