The Girl remained silent, which silence he interpreted as an assent, and went on to make himself at home.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “What a bully little place you have here! It’s awfully snug!” he continued delightedly, as his eyes wandered about the room. “And to think that I’ve found you again when I—Oh, the luck of it!”
He went over to her and held out his hands, a broad, yet kindly smile lighting up his strong features, making him appear handsomer, even, than he really was, to the Girl taking in the olive-coloured skin glowing with healthful pallor.
“Friends?” he asked.
Nevertheless the girl did not give him her hand, but quickly drew it away; she answered his question with a question:
“Are you sorry?”
“No, I’m not sorry.”
To this she made no reply but quietly, disappointedly returned to the fireplace, where she stood in contemplative silence, waiting for his next words.
But he did not speak; he contented himself with gazing at the tender girlishness of her, the blue-black eyes, and flesh that was so bright and pure that he knew it to be soft and firm, making him yearn for her.
Involuntarily she turned towards him, and she saw that in his face which caused her eyes to drop and her breath to come more quickly.