She turns giddy, with the utter shock of the great surprise—she leans for a second heavily against the counter, and looks at him with eyes that cannot believe what they see.
"Charley!"
"Edith!"
Yes, it is his voice, his smile, and he stretches his hand across the counter and takes hers. Then she sinks into a seat, and for a moment the store, and the faces, swim about her in a hot mist. But her heart has given one great glad leap, and she knows she has found what all unconsciously she has been longing for, seeking for—Charley!
He is the first to recover himself—if indeed he has lost himself for an instant—and speaks:
"This is a staggerer," he says; "and yet I don't know why it should be either, since everybody, high and low, who visits New York drops in here for the necessaries of life, sooner or later. I began to think, however, that you must have gone away again."
She looks at him. He is in no way changed that she can see—the very same Charley of three years before. "You knew I was here!" she asks.
"Certainly, Lady Catheron. I read the morning papers, and always look out for distinguished arrivals. Like the scent of the roses, my aristocratic tastes cling to me still. I thought you would hardly endure a month of Sandypoint—delightful, no doubt, as that thriving township is. I don't need to ask you how you have been—I can see for myself you never looked better."
He meets her steady, reproachful gaze with perfect sang-froid. "You knew I was here, and you would not come to see me," those dark luminous eyes say. His perfectly careless, indifferent manner stings her to the quick.
"Trixy knew I was here too, of course!" she says in a very low voice.