When they were alone a subtle change in his face and manner convinced her that he also had been taking notes, and had arrived at a favorable decision regarding herself. Women are quick at making such discoveries; and, even while she talked with him as a stranger, she felt assured that, if she chose, she might make him again her lover.
Here was a temptation! She had longed for some new excitement, and fate seemed to have put one of the most dangerous within her reach. It was natural to find comfort in the knowledge that somebody loved her, and to take pride in her power over one man, because another did not own it. In spite of her better self she felt the fascination of the hour, and yielded to it, half unconsciously assuming something of the “dash and daring” which Mr. Fletcher had once confessed to finding so captivating in the demure governess. He evidently thought so still, and played his part with spirit; for, while apparently enjoying a conversation which contained no allusion to the past, the memory of it gave piquancy to that long tete-a-tete.
As the first guests began to go, Mr. Fletcher’s friend beckoned to him; and he rose, saying with an accent of regret which changed to one of entreaty, as he put his question:
“I, too, must go. May I come again, Miss Devon?”
“I am scarcely more than a guest myself; but Mr. Power is always glad to see whoever cares to come,” replied Christie rather primly, though her eyes were dancing with amusement at the recollection of those love passages upon the beach.
“Next time, I shall come not as a stranger, but as a former—may I say friend?” he added quickly, as if emboldened by the mirthful eyes that so belied the demure lips.
“Now you forget your part,” and Christie’s primness vanished in a laugh. “I am glad of it, for I want to ask about Mrs. Saltonstall and the children. I’ve often thought of the little dears, and longed to see them.”
“They are in Paris with their father.”
“Mrs. Saltonstall is well, I hope?”
“She died six months ago.”