He
evidently thought so still, and played his part with spirit; for,
while apparently enjoying a conversation which contained no allusion
to the past, the memory of it gave piquancy to that long
tete-a-tete.
As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher's friend beckoned to
him; and he rose, saying with an accent of regret which changed to
one of entreaty, as he put his question:
"I, too, must go. May I come again, Miss Devon?"
"I am scarcely more than a guest myself; but Mr. Power is always
glad to see whoever cares to come," replied Christie rather primly,
though her eyes were dancing with amusement at the recollection of
those love passages upon the beach.
"Next time, I shall come not as a stranger, but as a former--may I
say friend?" he added quickly, as if emboldened by the mirthful eyes
that so belied the demure lips.
"Now you forget your part," and Christie's primness vanished in a
laugh. "I am glad of it, for I want to ask about Mrs. Saltonstall
and the children. I've often thought of the little dears, and longed
to see them."
"They are in Paris with their father."
"Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope?"
"She died six months ago."
An expression of genuine sorrow came over Mr.
Pages:
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372