“Oh but—won’t you drive? Won’t you ask Ciccio to drive with you in the cab? Where is he?”
Madame pointed him out as he hung back among the graves, his black hat cocked a little on one side. He was watching. Alvina broke away from her cousin, and went to him.
“Madame is going to drive to the station,” she said. “She wants you to get in with her.”
He looked round at the cabs.
“All right,” he said, and he picked his way across the graves to Madame, following Alvina.
“So, we go together in the cab,” said Madame to him. Then: “Good-bye, my dear Miss Houghton. Perhaps we shall meet once more. Who knows? My heart is with you, my dear.” She put her arms round Alvina and kissed her, a little theatrically. The cousin looked on, very much aloof. Ciccio stood by.
“Come then, Ciccio,” said Madame.
“Good-bye,” said Alvina to him. “You’ll come again, won’t you?” She looked at him from her strained, pale face.
“All right,” he said, shaking her hand loosely. It sounded hopelessly indefinite.
“You will come, won’t you?” she repeated, staring at him with strained, unseeing blue eyes.