Esmerelda spoke with great cordiality.  Now that I had been to New York, and the dressmakers there had transformed me, outwardly, into a fashionable woman, I noticed that her respect had considerably increased; and, furthermore, that some of her own costumes had been made in almost exact imitation of mine.  No higher compliment than this could Esmerelda have paid me; neither could I help acknowledging that she looked very graceful and lady-like in her Sunday garment, and often I fell to speculating how she would have appeared if half her life had been spent at a first-class boarding-school.  A painful sensation, probably akin to jealousy, suggested that probably she would have satisfied my guardian’s fastidious tastes better than I could ever do.

But I could never treat her in the same cordial way that I treated Mrs. Blake and the Larkums, and several others of her class.  These instinctively made me feel that, no matter how friendly I might be, there was no danger of their trying to assert an equality, which I suppose has existed among the members of the human family since shortly after the expulsion from Eden.  With Esmerelda the case was different.

That day I betook myself to the Mill Road with a good deal of expectancy.  I was anxious to see the look of recognition in those once sightless, disfigured eyes, and to hear how the long-concealed delights of a visible world once more appeared.  As I was walking rapidly along the street, I saw, approaching me on the Mill Road, one whom I had never noticed there before.  He walked with a quick, energetic step, as if existence was a rapture and yet I saw, beneath the soft felt hat, gray hairs that betokened him a man past the prime of life.  Strange to say, I did not recognize the pedestrian and was surprised to see him pause, and hold out his hand uncertainly, as if he were hardly sure of my identity.

“I think this is Miss Selwyn.”  Swiftly the assurance came to me that this was Mr. Bowen.

“Is it possible you should first recognize me?  I did not for an instant think it was you.”

“I had the conviction all along that I should know you, no matter where our first meeting might take place.”

“Persons are generally disappointed in the looks of their friends after sight has been restored.  You must be an exception to the general rule, or else your perceptions are keener than the average sufferers from loss of sight.”  I looked closely into the eyes of my companion, and saw that they were unusually fine and expressive.  He turned with me, saying, with a beautiful deference: 

“May I walk back with you?”

“I shall be disappointed if you do not give me a little of your time.  I only heard to-day that you were at home, and have come on purpose to see you.  My curiosity has been extreme to know how the world looks after your long night.”