She was examining him broodingly; there was a reluctant timidity in her eyes; it was such a look as you may see years afterward in the woman you once have cast aside for some other, perhaps not quite so worthy.
"Well, you have found me, Peter," she said in a faint and tired voice, coming slowly toward him.
"Yes," he admitted, lamely: "I saw you passing the jetty. I followed—naturally. I have just come from America."
"Oh." Her voice expressed no surprise. "You came for me, Peter?"
"I thought you were dead," he confessed.
"Well, I am a hard one to kill!" A tiny smile flickered across her fine lips. "You are not married—to Eileen?"
"No—and never!" he said dully.
"But you must be in love! You are always in love—with some one."
"I am in love with no one."
"Not even——"