Nor did he appear to be in a feeble
state of health; for all his emaciation, his step was firm and he
held himself tolerably upright. One thing was obvious, that at
Olga's side he forgot his ills. Each time he glanced at her, a
strange beautiful smile passed like a light over his hard features,
a smile of infinite melancholy, yet of infinite tenderness. The
voice in which he addressed her was invariably softened to express
something more than homage.
They had the habit of walking side by side, and could keep silence
without any feeling of restraint. Kite now and then uttered some
word or ejaculation, to which Olga paid no heed; it was only his
way, the trick of a man who lived much alone, and who conversed with
visions.
On ascending to the room in Great Portland Street, they found Miss
Bonnicastle hard at work on a design of considerable size, which
hung against the wall. This young lady, for all her sportiveness,
was never tempted to jest at the expense of Mr. Kite; removing a
charcoal holder from her mouth, she nodded pleasantly, and stood
aside to allow the melancholy man a view of her work.
"Astonishing vigour!" said Kite, in his soft, sincere voice. "How I
envy you!"
Miss Bonnicastle laughed with self-deprecation. She, no less than
Olga Hannaford, credited Kite with wonderful artistic powers; in
their view, only his constitutional defect of energy, his
incorrigible dreaminess, stood between him and great achievement.
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