A faint smile touched the girl's lips, a sorry little smile, edged with rueful reminiscence ... and strange comparisons. In silence she looked down into the shadowy temple courts where absurdly small-looking people were strolling to and fro, while Falconer stood looking down at her, with something akin to angry wonder in his adoring eyes.
"Why didn't you write to a chap?" he abruptly demanded.
"Why should I?"
"Then you meant to let it go at that?" He drew a sharp breath. "Just the way you flared off from that table—not a word more?"
"Why didn't you write?" the girl parried.
"I did," indignantly. "Twice—to Alexandria."
"Oh.... I didn't get them."
"I wrote, all right. I was so stirred up over that alarm of Hill's that I urged you to answer me at once. And when you didn't, and when I heard you had written the Evershams, well, I thought I knew what I had to think.... When I met you here Friday I half expected you to cut me, upon my word!"
"But I didn't!" She laughed softly. "I remembered you—perfectly."
"Oh, you did, did you?... You've acted as if that was about all you did remember."