Could it be—? Might it be—? Mrs. Bryce glanced round in despair for her husband. He was out of sight. That she should be foiled again was not to be endured.
Shyness had never been a characteristic of Mrs. Bryce. If this indeed were the man whom she craved to see, she would not miss her opportunity.
The two came to a pause, and Mrs. Bryce drew nearer, Molly keeping close by her side. In a clear full voice one was speaking—the one who absorbed Mrs. Bryce's attention,—and the concluding words of the short sentence were uttered with an intonation which, to any one who had heard Moore speak before, must have been unmistakable—
"If ever a man tells me a lie—" then came a slight impressive break,—"I've done with him!"
Something in a lower tone from the other, and a response—
"Ay, no need to assure you of that. I shall see you soon again."
He lifted his hat, and as they parted, going different ways, Mrs. Bryce with a swift movement placed herself in the path of the General. His hat was again courteously raised, and the penetrating eyes met hers.
"Pray, sir—I entreat of you—pardon my boldness. I have not yet the supreme honour of your acquaintance. But, if I am not strangely in error, your name, sir, is—"
"John Moore, madam."
Mrs. Bryce sank to the ground in a profound reverence, and Molly dipped a neat little curtsey in her wake.