However, as he was the soul of courtesy, he could not break away from their blandishments, and they led him such a dance along the beach in search of shells, that it was several hours before they returned to Sea View, Mrs. Poyntz having triumphantly produced a nice lunch with which the housekeeper had provided them. Returning at last, he fled to his room to pack his traps for flitting, though he had to leave out his dinner suit, as he could not conveniently flee without explanations to his hostess.
She waylaid him when he came downstairs, smiling sweetly as she said in an undertone:
“It’s twenty minutes to dinner yet, so come to the library. I have something to say to you in private.”
Dallas thought how fair she looked in her cool, flowing robes of pale green and white, with a pink rose in her crinkles of flaxen hair—how fair—and perhaps had he loved her, instead of false Daisie Bell, she might have been true; but, pshaw! they were all alike, heartless and vain. His bachelor uncle who had raised him—a noble man whose happiness had been wrecked by a siren’s wiles—had told him so, had instilled into his mind a distrust of the weaker sex.
They walked together to the library, and then he said:
“I wanted to speak to you, to thank you for your kindness and hospitality, because I have just been packing up, and will leave before morning.”
“Indeed, I am sorry. You—you—are running away from that girl.”
“Not exactly. I planned to leave a week ago, and should have gone on business, you see,” vaguely; “but the charm of the place held me, somehow. Well, of course, it wouldn’t be pleasant to meet Royall again after what has happened, so I am going before he comes.”
“He will be so sorry!” sweetly.
“No, I don’t think so,” brusquely. “He has been distant to me lately, and—and—why,” irately, “did he keep it a dead secret from me that he was courting—that girl? Was it friendly?”