“And I am delighted to see you also,” murmured Mr. Ray, softly. “Both my sister and I have been striving to meet you, but you have no idea how busy we are, Marion.”
He uttered her name as though it was sacred to him, and the fair girl’s eyelids drooped shyly as she heard him.
“You see we have sold our house and are storing the most of our things,” he continued, rather sadly, “for there are only two of us now, and we intend to travel. I am in wretched health, and I know it is better.”
He spoke a little doubtfully, as if arguing with himself, but Marion understood and hastened to turn the subject.
“I am sure that you must be busy with all that to do,” she added, quickly, “but have you heard that my manager is dead, Mr. Ray? I am to have a vacation perforce—I do not know for how long until I see our new manager to-morrow.”
“I read of the horrible occurrence,” was the answer. “I am glad all women are not like that dreadful Carlotta.”
Once more he gazed down into Marion’s eyes with his tender smile, and the fair girl’s heart throbbed with a sweet emotion.
She knew only too well what he was longing to say, and she knew also why it was that the words could not be uttered.
Archie Ray had loved her almost from the hour they met, and then, poor fellow, he supposed he had a right to love her—but later, before the sweet question had been asked, he discovered that the woman whom he had married when a boy at college, and who he thought had been dead for two years, was still alive, and, more, that she was now a thoroughly dissolute character.