"You are cold! This stand is draughty."
"I am not at all cold, thank you. What race is this?—oh! the three-minute one."
She bent forward with assumed interest to watch the scoring. She was breathing heavily. There were tears in her eyes—she bit her lips savagely and glared at the track until they were gone.
Presently he spoke again, in the low, even tone demanded by circumstances.
"This is a curious meeting, is it not?—quite a flavor of romance! By-the-way, do you read as many novels as ever?"
She fancied there was mockery in his tone. She remembered how very frivolous he used to consider her novel-reading. Besides, she resented the personal tinge. What right had he?
"Almost as many," she answered carelessly.
"I was very intolerant, wasn't I?" he said after a pause. "You thought so—you were right. You have been happier since you—left me?"
"Yes," she said defiantly, looking straight into his eyes.
"And you do not regret it?"