“When did you come?”
“By Schaffhausen, that train-rapide that does go so fast. I had been more wise to have come this morning by the train as madame, for this afternoon the tourists were very terrible—also the heat.”
“Was it dusty?” she went on.
“I believe you well that it was. And you,” he continued, turning to Rosina, who sat helplessly staring at her plate, and was very pale except for a crimson spot on either cheek, “had you a pleasant ride?”
“No, she hadn’t,” said her faithful friend; “she arrived all used up.”
“You were made too tired, and do not feel well?” he asked, addressing the scarlet cheeks again; “truly, you look much so. What has arrived in Zurich to make you like that?”
He put the question in a tone the intensity of which forced her to lift her eyes to his. Molly did not see the glance, for the infinitude of her own experiences led her to find the moment favorable for gazing out of the window in a sort of rapt admiration for the Insel rose-bushes in the foreground and the placid Bodensee beyond.
It was the waiter who jarred them all three back to the knowledge of mundane things by bringing soup for the latest arrival and ices for his two companions.
“Ah, now I may eat!” the gentleman exclaimed in a tone of deep satisfaction, and began at once.
“You must not be surprised over me,” he said to Molly, with a slight smile.