While Rudolph, with bitterness in his heart and humiliation on his brow, was speeding back to Cannes and to Photini, Agiropoulos progressed favourably with his wooing. Half-dead with shame at her notoriety, poor Andromache asked nothing better than a chance of getting away for ever from Athens.
CHAPTER XXX. CONTAINS A RELICATION AND A PROMISE.
Two men coming by opposite directions down Hermes Street, with their eyes anywhere but where they ought to have been, stumbled into each other’s arms, and started back instantly, with aggressive question on their faces.
“Well, Constantine,” one cried, eyeing the other furtively and distrustfully.
“Well, Stavros,” the other responded, with a corresponding expression.
“Here’s my hand, Constantine,” Stavros said, after a reflective pause, and held out his hand with an air of strenuous cordiality. “Touch it. It’s a loyal hand, and an honest one. I was always your friend, always liked you.”
“And so did I,” assented Constantine, as he laid his upon the extended palm shamefacedly.
“What! yourself? I never doubted it, my dear fellow.”