“Perhaps Miss Campbell would not like to have me leave the—the ballroom,” said Elinor, not knowing how to designate the dining room in its present use.
“It’s only a step away,” said Tony Blackstone, “and we can’t talk in there very well. You remind me of—of an English girl I once knew, and it would be just common charity to talk to me a little.”
“Are you homesick, then?” asked Elinor.
“Sometimes. If anything happens to remind me of—of my other home.”
“Then you are not happy here?” the young girl demanded quickly, as if this were a confirmation of her suspicions.
“There are times when I am happy,” he said. “When I am riding at night across the plains on a horse that goes like the wind. It is wonderful then, especially when the moon is full. I can almost forget that I have an identity at such times.”
There was a long pause. Elinor hardly knew what to say, and she watched the young man gravely. That he was deeply moved by the memories her own face had conjured up she could plainly see. His lips twitched convulsively and he clenched his hands as if he were trying to choke the thoughts that would rise in his mind. Why had he come away from home and lost himself in this distant place?
They sat thus for some time watching the stars silently. A sympathy had sprung up between them and they seemed to have known each other for a long time.
“What was her name?” she asked at last in a low voice.
“Elinor,” he burst out. “Elinor, the same as yours,” and he turned his face away.