Topham was still staring at the back of the girl who seemed familiar. Surely it could not be—and yet—
She wore a wide basket hat, from beneath which little yellow tendrils tumbled, shining red gold against her slender white neck. Topham was sure he had seen those curls against that neck before. The delicate poise of her head, too, was familiar. If she would only turn her head a trifle—She did it, and Topham rose quickly to his feet. “Lillian!” he gasped.
Ouro Preto’s voice reached his ear. “Do you know her?” he asked. “Can you present me?”
Topham nodded. “Certainly! If she will give me permission,” he answered. “Please excuse me while I recall myself to her.”
CHAPTER IX
Topham’s heart was light as he approached the table of the new arrivals. Lillian Byrd was the last person he had expected to see in Berlin. He had supposed her 3000 miles away at her home in Washington. He had not seen her for two years—not since the day that she had refused to marry him. He had known her pretty nearly all his life, but he had not thought of her as a possible sweetheart until the day when she had come back to her Washington home from college and met him there on his first assignment to Washington duty after leaving Annapolis.
Deliberate in all things else, he, like all the men of his family, was impetuous in love; and he had spoken to her almost at once. She had laughed at him, but in a way that invited further pursuit. In fact, he told himself she had deliberately kept him in tow until she could find someone better. Unattached young men were scarce in Washington, and few girls had a good-looking young naval officer utterly to themselves; and Miss Byrd did not care to lose her cavalier. For the whole of one Washington season she kept him; but when she came back the next fall after a summer at Newport, she had changed. Perhaps it was because she had made many more friends; perhaps it was because she had made some one particular friend; at any rate, she did not care so much for his attention—and she showed it. He reproached her, and demanded immediate acceptance or final rejection. He got rejection, and instantly applied for sea duty, hoping that absence would ease the pain.
Two years at sea had not made him forget. Either the lack of congenial friends or something that struck deeper had kept her face always before him. And then, in a day, in a moment, it had dimmed.
It seemed to Topham a very wonderful thing that he should meet her again, at almost the moment when he had first seen another woman whose image had effaced hers. For he no longer doubted what had happened to him that afternoon.
He passed by her chair, then faced her and raised his hat.