Before she could weigh the propriety of doing so, Lois had allowed her fingers to glide into his: and it was not until she felt a tender pressure, scarcely meant by Paul, that she thought she should have withheld her hand.
“He is cruel and deceitful,” she said to herself, turning away her head to avoid the glance which at once thrilled and distressed her.
Some ordinary civilities and usual courtesies passed. A flower-girl came to the opposite side of the carriage, and addressed Miss Dormer. Paul took advantage of this passing distraction to say rapidly to Lois, in a lower tone than he had used before:
“Miss Turquand, I began a story the night I saw you in the country. If I ever have the privilege of completing it, you will find that now it will have a very different ending.”
At this instant, Lady Quaintree issued from the shop, followed by a shopman laden with parcels. Her ladyship had been unable to resist some tempting novelties, and some wonderful bargains from a bankrupt’s stock.
“Captain Desfrayne!” she said. “I did not know you were in town.”
“I have only run up for a few hours on urgent business, madam,” he replied.
“We go to Eastbourne this day week,” her ladyship continued. “My husband has been very unwell, and the physicians have ordered change of air.”
She added that they would be happy to see Captain Desfrayne, if he chose to call at Lowndes Square before he left town again. Some more civilities, and the carriage drove away.
One long look passed between Paul and Lois—a look of mingled feeling on his side; of inquiry, of surprise, of displeasure on hers—one of those glances that serve to link two souls together, be it for good, be it for evil.