"Then it really is you, Lina?" he cried. "I thought—I believed it was so, but I was afraid to speak."
His deep voice quivered with emotion.
Of the two she seemed much the calmer.
Only the marble pallor of her cheek showed her intense repressed agitation.
"Yes, it is Lina," she said, with apparent calmness. "Are you surprised, Mr. Valchester?"
"Lina, we have mourned you as dead," he said, unsteadily.
"There were few to mourn me," she replied, and there was a note of bitterness in the musical voice.
There was a moment's embarrassed silence. Valchester twirled the leaves of the book in his hand. Jaquelina looked at the floor.
"Tell me something of the Earles—and my uncle," she said. "It is so long—three years—since I have heard."
"The Earles are in New York—they came expressly to hear you sing last night," he replied.