CHAPTER XXV
The Lover
They left her alone with Peter in the drawing room in the interval before the coffee, seeing that he had barely spoken to her though his eyes had not left her face since the moment of her spectacular appearance between the portières.
“I’m not going to marry you, Peter,” Beulah whispered, as she slipped by him to the door, “don’t think of me. Think of her.”
But Peter was almost past coherent thought or speech as they stood facing each other on the hearth-rug,—Eleanor’s little head up and her breath coming lightly between her sweet, parted lips.
“Where did you go?” Peter groaned. “How could you, dear—how could you,—how could you?”
“I’m back all safe, now, Uncle Peter. I took up nursing in a hospital.”
“I didn’t even find you. I swore that I would. I’ve searched for you everywhere.” 305