But the gods made women quick, and that glance from one to the other had told Leslie all their story. Trembling a little, but outwardly calm, she glided towards them.
"Yes," she said, slowly, distinctly, "Mr. Duncombe and I know each other. We are old, very old friends——."
"Friends?" fell from Lucy's quivering lips, and spoke doubtfully in her wide-open eyes.
"Yes, dear," said Leslie, softly, "great friends—nothing more." The last two words were breathed rather than spoken, and Lucy's lips opened with a deep sigh of relief, and the hand that had been gradually slipping, slipping from Ralph's arm, tightened again.
"This—this is a surprise, Les—Miss Lisle," he said at last, and his voice sounded almost harsh from his emotion. "Where have you been? What has happened?" he glanced at the black scarf, at the black ribbons on her sleeves, and his voice faltered.
Leslie's head drooped for a moment, then she raised it bravely.
"Yes!" she said, answering his unspoken question. "Months ago. I will tell you about it—presently. Will you both go in? You have something to tell me, I see," and she smiled. "I will come directly. I have lost something——."
Lucy took Ralph's hand and held it up.
"It is found," she said, and pointed to the ring solemnly. "It was to you he gave it, was it not, Leslie?" and a dark, a terrible fear, a pang almost of jealousy shook her heart.
Leslie motioned to Ralph to be silent, and taking Lucy's hand drew her towards her.