“Y-y-yes. We have to be back in London in a fortnight,” said Bayre, with a blank look.
“You live in London?” A look of reflection came into her eyes. “Everybody in England seems to live in London!”
“Yes.”
Then Repton, rather troubled that the beautiful girl addressed herself solely to his companion, put in,—
“You know London, of course, mademoiselle?”
There came a sudden flash of something, of eagerness, of longing, of some feeling, vivid but indescribable, into her face as she said simply,—
“I wish I did!”
“It’s an awfully jolly place,” went on Repton, insinuating himself jubilantly into the conversation which Bayre appeared glad to drop out of. “Lots of life, and movement, and bustle, and social enjoyment. And then there’s art—divine art!” and Repton made enthusiastic circles in the air with his right hand, “and the theatres!”
“Ah!—yes!”
It was a sort of sigh that the girl uttered, not looking at him, but vaguely out at the sea with the steady yearning of eyes that see more than the physical objects before them.