Travis was awaiting her in the hall. She turned pale and then crimson when she saw him. And yet, when she ventured to look at him as she was passing, she was stopped with the change which lay on his face. It was a sad smile he gave her, sad but determined. And in the courtly bow was such a look of tenderness that with fluttering heart and a strange new feeling of upliftedness—a confidence in him for the first time, she stopped and gave him her hand with a grateful smile. It was a simple act and so pretty that the sadness went from Travis' face as he said:
“I was not going to stop you—this is kind of you. Saturday, I thought you feared me.”
“Yes,” she smiled, “but not now—not when you look like that.”
“Have I changed so much since then?” and he looked at her curiously.
“There is something in your face I never saw before. It made me stop.”
“I am glad it was there, then,” he said simply, “for I wished you to stop, though I did not want to say so.”
“Saturday you would have said so,” she replied with simple frankness.
He came closer to her with equal frankness, and yet with a tenderness which thrilled her he said:
“Perhaps I was not so sure Saturday of many things that I am positive of to-day.”
“Of what?” she asked flushing.