A handsome, tastefully-dressed woman turned more fully towards them, and for a moment Geoffrey stood still in blank astonishment. The average man would find it disconcerting to be brought, without warning, suddenly face to face in a strange country with a woman who had discarded him, and Thurston showed slight embarrassment.
"Mrs. Henry Leslie! But you evidently know each other!" exclaimed the hostess, whose quick eyes had noticed his startled expression.
Millicent had changed since the last time Geoffrey saw her. She had lost her fresh cream and rose prettiness, but had gained something in place of it, and though her pale blue eyes were too deeply sunk, her face had acquired strength and dignity. She was, as he had always found her, perfectly self-possessed. With a quick glance, which expressed appeal and warning, she said:
"We are not quite strangers. I knew Mr. Thurston in England."
The young Englishman and his countrywoman moved away together, and Geoffrey presently found himself standing in a broad corridor with Millicent's hand upon his arm. Through a long window which opened into a balcony the clear moonlight shone. A wide vista of forest and sparkling sea lured them out of doors.
"A breath of fresh air would be delightful. It would be quiet out there, and I expect you have much to tell me." It was Millicent who spoke, with quiet composure, and her companion wondered at his own lack of feeling. After the first shock of the surprise he was sensible of no particular indignation or emotion. It seemed as if any tenderness that he had once felt for her had long since disappeared. There was little that he cared to tell her; but, prompted by some impulse which may have been mere curiosity, he drew the window open and they passed out upon the balcony.
"This reminds one of other days," said the woman, with a sigh. "Had I known you were here, I should have dreaded to meet you, but it is very pleasant to see you again. You have surely altered, Geoffrey. I should hardly have expected to find you so friendly."
"I am not in the least inclined to reproach you for the past," was the sober answer. Geoffrey was distinctly perplexed, for he had acquired a clearer perception of Millicent's character since he left England, and now he felt almost indignant with himself for wondering what she wanted. Glancing at her face he was conscious of a certain pity as well as a vague distrust, for it was evident that her life had not been altogether smooth or her health really robust. But the fact that she should recall the far-off days in England jarred upon him.
"It is a relief to learn that you are not angry, at least. What are you doing over here, Geoffrey?" she asked.
"Reclaiming a valley from a river. Living up among the mountains in the snow," was the answer.