He did not glance at her, feeling her eyes on him. When he judged it was time he looked up suddenly, rose to his feet, and, in a diffident, apologetic voice, observed:
"Forgive me, dear! What did you say?"
What could she say? She therefore said it:
"Nothing!" very softly.
"I was very far from New York—and yet you were with me, my love!"
She thought of Philadelphia and her hand sought his with that refuge-seeking instinct which cannot be statuted away from them.
He met her half-way. He raised her hands to his lips and his disengaged left sought his waistcoat pocket where the ring was.
"She is in the drawing-room, sir, with Mr. Rutgers," came in faithful Frederick's warning voice, raised above the menial's pitch.
"What!" they heard Mr. Goodchild ejaculate. Then the titular owner of the house entered.
H. R. politely bowed.