“My brave young friend!” he said; and the next minute his firm footfall was crunching the gravel of the walk. Neither of them had remembered that he was to have come in with her. She waited till the gate clicked behind him, and then softly closed the heavy door.
“My brave young friend!” The words mounted like wine to her head. She forgot her surroundings and stood in a sweet dream in the hall, slowly unbuttoning her glove. She must have remained in this attitude for five minutes, when, raising her eyes, still shadowy with thought, she saw her cousin before her down the hall, his arm resting on the newel-post.
“Louis!” she cried in surprise; and without considering, she hurried to him, threw her arm around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Arnold, taken by storm, stepped slightly back.
“When did you get home?” she asked, the pale rose-flush that mantled her cheeks making her face exquisite.
“A half an hour ago.”
She looked at him quickly.
“Are you tired, Louis?” she inquired gently. “You are somewhat pale, and you speak in that way.”
“Did you enjoy the play?” he asked quietly, passing by her remarks.
“The play!” she echoed, and then a quick burning blush suffused her face. The epilogue had wholly obliterated the play from her recollection.
“Oh, of course,” she responded, turning from the rather sardonic smile of his lips and seating herself on the stairs; “do you want to hear about it now?”