It was evident that she had made a careful toilette, for her attire was of the best and in excellent taste.
The grey-eyed young man was not accustomed to be taken by surprise, or give expression to his emotions, if he had any, in a demonstrative manner; still he did just raise his eyebrows and honour his female companion with an inquiring glance as she re-entered the room.
He acknowledged to himself that she was very beautiful, but round her eyes and mouth there were lines and wrinkles unnaturally deepened by the life of anxiety which she had led.
Nevertheless, all things considered, she looked well, and was by no means a faded beauty, albeit the bloom had in a measure left the peach.
“Alf, dear,” she said, walking towards him, “I have something to say to you—a few words concerning my own happiness.”
“Indeed! Well, to begin with, I must inform you that I am no longer Alf Purvis, the farmer’s boy, from Stoke Perry farmhouse—nothing of the sort, my dear. I am Algernon Sutherland.”
“Of course, I know that. But in speaking to one who has been so long my pet, I addressed him by his real name—dont’t you see?”
“Oh, I see,” returned the young gentleman, puffing carelessly at his cigar. “But, my dear girl, you ought to know—but, of course, you do—that there is nothing real in the existence of a thief; it is as ephemeral as that of butterflies, ladybirds, and other poetical insects. I have changed my name as I have changed my habits, my language, my associations, and my honesty.”
Mr. Algernon Sutherland took two or three more long and vigorous puffs at his cigar, which had been trying to go out under cover of his eloquence.
“I will call you what you wish,” she answered in a gentle manner and tone of voice, “if you will only listen to what I am going to say.”