“None,” she returned; then added, bitterly, “Oh, hope and I have had nothing to say to one another this long, long while.”
Bootles dropped her hand listlessly. “Then it is no use my boring you,” he said, turning away.
Then with one imploring backward look she went away and left him alone
A fierce denial rose to the girl’s lips, but she choked it down and suffered his words in silence. Then meekly, and with one imploring backward look at his tall figure as he stood, his head well up in spite of his defeat, looking into the fire, she went away and left him alone.
CHAPTER VII.
So it was all over. This was the end of all his hopes and dreams and wishes! This was the end! None of his bright hopes would ever be—none of his golden dreams would come to pass. His wishes had no weight with the woman he loved. He had looked forward—like a fool, he thought, bitterly—and had pictured her in a dozen different ways: at the head of his table, in the hunting-field, in the middle age, and in the decline of life, as Mignon’s mother, as his wife. But it was all over now. When Madame’s visit was over, she would go from under his roof, never to come back to it any more, forever.
He was still standing there when the door opened with some difficulty, and Miss Mignon appeared on the threshold.
“Bootles?” she said, inquiringly.