Mrs. Beresford was out, and St. George was ill again from the fever of a baffled hope.
So Alva went down alone to meet the handsome Englishman, and their mutual attraction toward each other was strengthened by this interview.
His earnest sympathy with her brother tempted her to confide the story of Floy to his sympathetic ears.
He listened in wonder to it all, and then she ended with a sigh:
“He is ill again, my poor brother, and no mortal physician can heal the wound from which he suffers—the pain of hopeless love.”
He looked at the bright, beautiful face, wondering how she should know so much of what she spoke, then he said, abruptly:
“I wonder if your brother would see me a little while if I could give him good news?”
“Good news?” she faltered.
“Yes, of this girl—this Floy Fane. I know where she is to-day.”
Alva almost fainted with joy. He never forgot her looks of gratitude and her expressions of joy.