Christie smiled at her when she
caught these glances, as if to reassure the looker of her good-will.
But Rachel only colored, kept her eyes fixed on her work, and was
more reserved than ever.
This interested Christie, and she fell to studying this young woman
with some curiosity, for she was different from the others. Though
evidently younger than she looked, Rachel's face was that of one who
had known some great sorrow, some deep experience; for there were
lines on the forehead that contrasted strongly with the bright,
abundant hair above it; in repose, the youthfully red, soft lips had
a mournful droop, and the eyes were old with that indescribable
expression which comes to those who count their lives by emotions,
not by years.
Strangely haunting eyes to Christie, for they seemed to appeal to
her with a mute eloquence she could not resist. In vain did Rachel
answer her with quiet coldness, nod silently when she wished her a
cheery "good morning," and keep resolutely in her own somewhat
isolated corner, though invited to share the sunny window where the
other sat. Her eyes belied her words, and those fugitive glances
betrayed the longing of a lonely heart that dared not yield itself
to the genial companionship so freely offered it.
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