“But still,” he pleaded, “for old times, Inza. You remember the far-away days at Fardale? You remember the night we leaned on the gate before your home, with the moon hidden for a moment behind a cloud? You remember what happened then, Inza?”
She grew strangely pale, and then the blood rushed to her cheeks in a burning flood.
“I’ll never forget, Frank!” she whispered, a tremor running over her. “Never!”
Memory took her back to that sweet summer evening of her girlhood days. It seemed that she could see the peaceful, moonlighted village street and could feel the touch of the fragrant breeze that fanned her cheek. Then Frank was a handsome cadet at the little military academy, and she had loved him with all the depth of her impulsive girlish heart. He had kissed her over the gate in that masterful, undeniable way of his, and a million times since then she had thought of the joy of that moment.
But years had wrought a change in them both. Between them had risen a pretty, sweet-faced, golden-haired girl. That girl was Inza’s dearest friend, and sometimes her heart had cried out in rebellion against Elsie, who had caused Frank’s thoughts to stray from her.
“Those were happy days,” said Frank gently.
“Yes,” came faintly from her lips; “happier than I have ever known since.”
She felt his arm slip across her shoulders, and, for a moment, she permitted it to remain there, little dreaming that she had again come between Frank and Elsie.
Outside the door that opened into the hall—the door that Merry opened to permit fresh air to sweep through the room—stood a blue-eyed girl, rooted to the floor, gazing in upon them, her heart throbbing madly and painfully in her breast. It was Elsie, who had mounted the stairs, and she saw Frank bending over Inza, heard the murmur of their voices, beheld him put his arm around Inza’s waist—then turned and fled noiselessly down the stairs, not pausing until she had reached the street; and everything that had looked so bright but a moment before suddenly seemed to change.