"You don't look so tired now! And to think I was cursing the luck that would keep me here for another twenty-four hours! I have an appointment at the Colonial Office to-morrow and can't go north till Friday. But I never in my wildest dreams anticipated this."
She smiled as she took the chair he offered. Her eyes had a far-away look, her cheeks were softly flushed, she seemed like a dream-woman, and she was so beautiful that Rosmead blamed himself that the vision of her he had carried with him so long had fallen so far short of the reality.
The waiter came in with the soup presently and waited upon them deftly. But Isla ate little. While the small, daintily-appointed, and exquisite meal was being served they talked of commonplace things--of the Riviera in the season, of Rosmead's business in America, of the bridge whose foundations had taken so long to lay.
"But it is accomplished, isn't it?" she asked with her swift glance across the table. "Of course I always knew it would be. I remember that you said that in your estimation difficulties existed only to be demolished."
"That was a very high and mighty utterance," said Rosmead a little shyly. "But this time I thought I was going to get beaten. Do you know that I left the very day after the thing had passed the bar of my own judgment, just five days after the other experts had pronounced it unassailable."
"You always trust yourself last?" she said inquiringly.
"It is I who have to pay the price of failure, and so I leave nothing to chance," he answered. "Will you take nothing to drink? I am a teetotaller myself. Some day I will tell you why. But you are tired, and wine will do you good."
She shook her head.
"No. It is delightful to think that one can dine without it. I do believe that you are the first man I have ever met who could."
"Oh, come!" said Rosmead, laughing. "Where I come from there are many."