Andrews looked worn, overworked. Richmond Briarley had hoped that the returns from the opera would take some of the strain off of the ambitious fellow—but the unfortunate affair with Stephen Kent had ended that hope.
CHAPTER IV.
For two weeks Esther had been at the seaside. She had grown pale and tired from the ceaseless round of work and social play. This life had glamour, had charm, but no contentment. Her pleasure in it was not real. She entered it with the belief that it was sweet to love, natural to trust. There was nothing in life but faith and love. She was now in the midst of people who talked with a sceptical contempt of all that she had held sacred. They laughed at her simple faith in the old-fashioned morality taught her by cherished lips.
Glenn Andrews could not leave without seeing her again. He had sent her a message. In the afternoon of the last day he went down to the seaside where she was stopping. The expression on his face was one of unrelenting yet melancholy determination. She was not in, so he struck across the sand and strolled along the beach until he found her. In spite of the pain in her heart, her sensitive, proud face denied it. There was a smile on her pale lips.
“You’re about as hard to reach as the bag of gold at the rainbow’s end,” Glenn said, “but I am glad to find that the other hunters have not reached here. From stories that came back to town, you don’t often escape all of your admirers at once. I am fortunate to find you alone.”
“They are fairy stories that every girl has a right to be a heroine of during the season.”
“I ventured to ask you to be so good as to give me an hour, only because I am going away so soon, and I may not see you again.”
“Your ‘so’ is femininely unsatisfactory. That is the speech of a woman. How soon is that?”
He pointed across the water. “You see that ship? Just about this time to-morrow, when the Majestic sails that way, you may know I am aboard of her. I will wave you a farewell.”
Esther felt a tremor run over her. She looked past him at the baffled surf, as, white with rage, it sprang against the pier, retreating with a roar, leaving a glimpse of the green sea stones beneath.