I forgot everything but that one figure, lily-white, and swaying like a lily, as it stood. Luckily, there was no one near to see, or think of us. The diners dined, as if this were an ordinary night, as if there might be other such nights again.
"Who are you?" I said as if in a dream.
A wave of colour swept up from the small, firm chin, to the rings of chestnut hair. "I—why, I'm the Boy's sister," a low voice stammered. "He—sent me. I've a letter from him. My friends are outside. They will be here soon, but I—I came. You are—I suppose you are Man––"
"And I know you are Boy, Boy himself. I mean, he never was—for heaven's sake tell me—but no, I don't need to ask. I've got my Little Pal back again, that's all."
"Oh, if I'd been sure you would guess—if I had known you would talk to me like this, I should not have dared to come."
"Yes, you would. For you are brave; and you owed me this."
"I'm ashamed to look you in the face. What must you think of me?"
"Think? I'm past thinking. I'm thanking the gods. If I could think at all it would be of myself, that I was a fool not to—and yet, was I a fool? You were a boy then. Even the Contessa––"
"Oh, don't! Where can we sit? I must tell you everything—explain everything. I can't wait. In a few minutes Molly and Jack will come."
"Good heavens!"