Those anecdotes of Bobby's had affected her strangely. She had
felt so completely cut off of late from all things connected with the
past. No one ever mentioned Nick to her now--not even her faithful
correspondent Olga. Meteor-like, he had flashed through her sky and
disappeared; leaving a burning, ineradicable trail behind him, it is
true, but none the less was he gone. She had not the faintest idea
where he was. She would have given all she had to know, yet could not
bring herself to ask. It seemed highly improbable that he would ever
cross her path again, and she knew she ought to be glad of this; yet
no gladness ever warmed her heart. And now here was a man who had
known him, who had told her of exploits new to her knowledge yet how
strangely familiar to her understanding, who had at a touch brought
before her the weird personality that her imagination sometimes
strove in vain to summon. She could have sat and listened to Bobby's
reminiscences for hours. The bare mention of Nick's name had made her
blood run faster.
Lady Bassett did not trouble her to converse during the drive back,
ascribing to her evident desire for silence a reason which Muriel was
too absent to suspect. But when the girl roused herself to throw a
couple of annas to an old beggar who was crouched against the entrance
to the Residency grounds she could not resist giving utterance to a
gentle expostulation.
Pages:
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384