“And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his.
“I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I am twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.”
Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they had just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see summer lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the other side of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw himself down on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn screened on all sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the path just beyond, and caught curious scraps of conversation over which he smiled in a cynical fashion.
Now it was a woman’s voice.
“Well, what you can see to admire in her I can’t imagine, and her dress! why those sleeves might have come out of the ark. Oh you didn’t notice them. How curious men are.”
Next came a pair of lovers.
“Dearest!” said one voice.
“My own!” replied the other.
And Dick Lewisham cruelly coughed. After which dead silence reigned.
By and bye a mellow, manly voice startled him into keen attention; it was Bruce Wylie.