The huge problems of India had
laid an unshakeable hold upon his imagination. He had seen Russia,
and he wanted to balance that picture by a vision of the east. . . .
He saw Easton only once during a week-end at Chexington. The young
man displayed no further disposition to be confidentially
sentimental. But he seemed to have something on his mind. And
Amanda said not a word about him. He was a young man above
suspicion, Benham felt. . . .
And from his departure the quality of the correspondence of these
two larger carnivores began to change. Except for the repetition of
accustomed endearments, they ceased to be love letters in any sense
of the word. They dealt chiefly with the "Cub," and even there
Benham felt presently that the enthusiasm diminished. A new amazing
quality for Amanda appeared--triteness. The very writing of her
letters changed as though it had suddenly lost backbone. Her
habitual liveliness of phrasing lost its point. Had she lost her
animation? Was she ill unknowingly? Where had the light gone? It
was as if her attention was distracted.
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