“Well, do you know,” she looked at him archly, “I believe you will have more time than you really think you have. It would be odd if it came out that way, wouldn’t it?” she continued, as she played with the flower in her hand.
“Yes, but it won’t come out that way,” said Thorne, as he stepped closer to her.
“You don’t know,” she faltered, as Thorne drew the flower from her and took her hand in his. They stood there quiet a moment, and she did not draw her hand away. “Well, it makes no difference how soon you are going away; you can sit down in the meantime if you want to.”
“It is hardly worth while,” he said; “my time is so short.”
“You would better,” interrupted the girl; “I have a great many things to say to you.”
“Have you?” he asked, sitting down on the little sofa by her side in compliance with her invitation.
“Yes.”
“But I have only one thing to say to you—Miss Varney and—that is”—Thorne took her other hand in both of his—“good-bye.”
Very different words had trembled on his lips, as he knew and as the girl knew.
“But I don’t really think you will have to say that, Captain Thorne,” said Edith slowly.