In manner and outlook she was still a child . Yet now and again she was as old as Eve . An expression would leap into her laughing face , a subtle meaning reveal itself in her smile , that held all the lore of womanhood and all the wisdom of the ages . Her way of smiling enchanted him . The smile always began far down in her eyes and flowed outward to her face like a sparkling brook stealing out of shadow into sunshine . He knew everything about her life . She told him her simple history freely . She often mentioned her uncle and aunt and seemed to regard them with deep affection . She rarely spoke of her mother . Eric came somehow to understand , less from what she said than from what she did not say , that Kilmeny , though she had loved her mother , had always been rather afraid of her . There had not been between them the natural beautiful confidence of mother and child . Of Neil , she wrote frequently at first , and seemed very fond of him . Later she ceased to mention him . Perhaps -- for she was marvellously quick to catch and interpret every fleeting change of expression in his voice and face -- she discerned what Eric did not know himself -- that his eyes clouded and grew moody at the mention of Neil 's name . Once she asked him naively , `` Are there many people like you out in the world ? '' `` Thousands of them , '' said Eric , laughing . She looked gravely at him . Then she gave her head a quick decided little shake . `` I do not think so , '' she wrote . `` I do not know much of the world , but I do not think there are many people like you in it . ''
One evening , when the far-away hills and fields were scarfed in gauzy purples , and the intervales were brimming with golden mists , Eric carried XXXXX the old orchard a little limp , worn volume that held a love story .
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