“Fifteen,” she replied.
“Up to the age of fifteen you had all the things which rich girls possess.”
“Yes, all,” she answered, tears springing suddenly to her eyes. “The best home, the best father, the most loving mother——” she bit her lips and could not go on. She had a vision before her at that moment of Anthony’s splendid young strength, of his courage, his nobleness. She knew now of whom Murray reminded her. He was like Rowton in feature, but, in heart and mind, he was Anthony’s counterpart.
Rowton glanced at her face and guessed something of her thoughts.
“Sweetheart,” he said with a certain gravity which was full of sweetness; “I see that as far as possible, I must banish memory from you. You must live, my beloved, in the glorious present, and forget all those shadows of your early youth.”
“But why forget its sunshine?” she answered.
“Yes, you must even forget its sunshine,” he replied; “for that sun of long ago casts a deep shadow on you now.”
“It does,” she answered, “it does.”
“You will try to forget it?”
“I will,” she replied.