"He knows he must have done the same in our place," said Sir James.
After a minute he looked at her closely under the electric light which
dominated the terrace.
"I am afraid you have been going through a great deal," he said, bending
over her. "Put it from you when you can. You don't know how people
feel for you"
She looked up with her quick smile.
"I don't always think of it--and oh! I am so thankful to _know_! I dream
of them often--my father and mother--but not unhappily. They are
_mine_--much, much more than they ever were."
She clasped her hands, and he felt rather than saw the exaltation, the
tender fire in her look.
All very well! But this stage would pass--must pass. She had her own
life to live. And if one man had behaved like a selfish coward, all the
more reason to invoke, to hurry on the worthy and the perfect lover.
* * * * *
Presently Marion Vincent appeared, and with her Frobisher, and an
unknown man with a magnificent brow, dark eyes of a remarkable vivacity,
and a Southern eloquence both of speech and gesture. He proved to be a
famous Italian, a poet well known to European fame, who, having married
an English wife, had settled himself at Assisi for the study of St.
Pages:
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463