He turned his bright, gentle regard upon her. “I’m afraid I’ll have to.”
“I expected you to stay to tea; I’ve had a place set for you.”
“I’d like to very much—it’s kind of you to ask me—but I’m afraid not to-night. I’ll see you to-morrow, Sutton, I suppose. Good evening, Mrs. Alexander.” His hand-touch seemed to give an intimacy to the words.
“Your stick is out here in the hall somewhere,” said Justin, investigating the corners for it, while Zaidee, who had followed the two, stood in the doorway.
“I wonder if this little girl will kiss me good-by?” asked Girard tentatively.
“Will you, Zaidee?” asked her father, in his turn.
For all answer, Zaidee raised her little face trustfully. Girard dropped on one knee, a very gallant figure of a gentleman, as he put both arms around the small, light form of the child and held her tightly to him for one brief instant while his lips pressed that warm cheek. When he strode lightly away, waving his hand behind him in farewell, it was with an odd, somber effect of having said good-by to a great deal.
For the second time that day, it seemed that Zaidee had been the recipient of an emotion called forth by some one else.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Lois?”