Her face upturned to his in the moonlight, wore the austere loveliness of a saint’s.
“I wish you’d tell me something,” he said, his fine dark eyes taking in every detail of delicate tint and outline. “Do you know it all seems very strange and unusual to me—your coming to Brookville the way you did, and doing so much to—to make the people here happy.”
She drew a deep, sighing breath.
“I’m afraid it isn’t going to be easy,” she said slowly. “I thought it would be; but—”
“Then you came with that intention,” he inferred quickly. “You meant to do it from the beginning. But just what was the beginning? What ever attracted your attention to this forlorn little place?”
She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she smiled.
“I might ask you the same question,” she said at last. “Why did you come to Brookville, Mr. Elliot?”
He made an impatient gesture.
“Oh, that is easily explained. I had a call to Brookville.”
“So did I,” she murmured. “Yes; I think that was the reason—if there must be a reason.”