Astounded, bewildered, yet conscious of some vague wound, Don Ramon
remained motionless, staring after her straight, retreating figure.
Unable to follow closely either the meaning of her words or the logic
of her reasoning, he nevertheless comprehended the sudden change in
her manner, her voice, and the frigid resurrection of a nature he had
neither known nor suspected. He looked blankly at the collapsed hammock,
as if he expected to find in its depths those sinuous graces, languid
fascinations, and the soft, half sensuous contour cast off by this
vanishing figure of propriety.
In the eight months of their enforced intimacy and platonic seclusion
he had learned to love this naive, insinuating woman, whose frank
simplicity seemed equal to his own, without thought of reserve, secrecy,
or deceit. He had gradually been led to think of the absent husband
with what he believed to be her own feelings--as of some impalpable,
fleshless ancestor from whose remote presence she derived power,
wealth, and importance, but to whom she owed only respect and certain
obligations of honor equal to his own. He had never heard her speak of
her husband with love, with sympathy, with fellowship, with regret.
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