“Sure, that’s all right,” he said, a trifle puzzled.
There was a queer pleasure in this little renewal of the acquaintanceship of the bygone days, despite the fact of its being an entirely one-sided renewal. He’d have known her anywhere. It was the same small vivacious face, the same odd little upward tilt to the chin, the same varied inflection of voice, the same little quick gestures. He would have liked to keep her standing there while he recalled the small imperious child in the elfin-like figure before him. But, her property having been restored, there was nothing on earth further he could say, no possible reason for prolonging the conversation. He waited, however, for Trix to give the dismissal.
Trix was looking at him, a queer puzzlement in her eyes. Why was his face so oddly familiar? It was utterly impossible that she should have met him before, at all events on the intimate footing the familiarity of his face suggested. It must be merely an extraordinary likeness to someone to whom she could not at the moment put a name. Quite suddenly she realized that they were scrutinizing each other in a way that certainly cannot be termed exactly orthodox. She pulled herself together.
“Thank you for restoring my glove,” said she with a fine resumption of dignity; and she turned off once more down the drive.
Antony went slowly back to his shears.
CHAPTER XXIV
AN INTEREST IN LIFE
Doctor Hilary was walking down the lane in a somewhat preoccupied frame of mind. He had been oddly preoccupied the last day or so, lapsing into prolonged meditations from which he would emerge with a sudden and almost guilty start.