Sitting there in the balmy air with the soft murmur of the waves in his ears, he relapsed into thought. Minutes went silently by, bringing a subtle change into the man's face. His cheeks glowed, his downcast eyes sparkled.
"A master rather than a slave," he muttered at last with an evil triumph in his tone; "so be it."
Slowly rising, he retraced his steps to Irene.
He met her coming along the path toward him, her fair face anxious and troubled.
"Oh, Mr. Revington," she cried, "I have lost the locket off my chain! Have you seen it anywhere?"
He held it up to the light, and her sweet face glowed with joy.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Revington," she cried, "I am so glad! I feared I had lost it forever!"
"I am very glad to have the good fortune to restore it to you," he said; "it lay directly in my path as I was returning to the villa."
"I am so glad," she repeated, kissing it as if it had been some sentient thing. "You see, Mr. Revington, it was a gift to me from one who is now dead—one whom I loved—dearly," she concluded, with a falter in her voice and a mist of tears in her eyes.
"Miss Berlin, will you pardon me if I ask you what may seem an impertinent question?" he asked.