"Miss Holloway!" he called distinctly.
"Who is there? Where—"
The voice called again; she leaned over the railing and saw a tall figure below looming in the star-lit dusk. "Who is it?" she asked, a quick catch in her breath.
"Do you not know me?" reproachfully.
"Mr. Lawson?" the voice was low and full, and the intonation gracefully easy, with the old ring of cheer in it. Hard riding, hard thinking, hot scorning, and firm resolving had made many changes in Frances; best of all it had restored her old manner of gay ease.
"Where have you been?" questioned the voice below.
"Ever so many places."
"When did you come back?" If there was any tender reproach in the voice, the young woman up there did not heed it.
"Yesterday."
Yesterday! when he was searching for her, longing for her,—and she was here. "Why didn't you stay for the game?"