It was then that Billy made a strange and fearsome discovery: there were
some things about Cyril that she did--not--like!
Billy was inexpressibly shocked. Heretofore he had been so high, so
irreproachable, so god-like!--but heretofore he had been a friend.
Now he was appearing in a new role--though unconsciously, she knew.
Heretofore she had looked at him with eyes that saw only the delightful
and marvelous unfolding of a coldly reserved nature under the warmth of
her own encouraging smile. Now she looked at him with eyes that saw only
the possibilities of that same nature when it should have been unfolded
in a lifelong companionship. And what she saw frightened her. There was
still the music--she acknowledged that; but it had come to Billy with
overwhelming force that music, after all, was not everything. The man
counted, as well. Very frankly then Billy stated the case to herself.
"What passes for 'fascinating mystery' in him now will be plain
moroseness--sometime. He is 'taciturn' now; he'll be--cross, then. It is
'erratic' when he won't play the piano to-day; but a few years from now,
when he refuses some simple request of mine, it will be--stubbornness.
All this it will be--if I don't love him; and I don't. I know I don't.
Besides, we aren't really congenial. I like people around; he doesn't.
I like to go to plays; he doesn't.
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