The young man had it still. It was a tiny ring, too small for a woman, he had thought, but it had slipped easily over the third finger of Eweretta’s hand, when he had placed it there in token of their betrothal.
Miss Le Breton’s hands were as small and delicate as her half-sister’s.
Philip began to think (he laughed at himself grimly for the thought) that he should like to see Miss Le Breton wearing Eweretta’s ring.
Philip crossed the road, dodging the rushing motorcars, and walked along the parade in the direction of Hove.
There was a sea mist coming up, and the air felt raw, but at the point opposite the Norfolk Hotel, “Blind Harry” was singing one of his ballads, playing a soft accompaniment upon his accordeon.
“Blind Harry’s” beautiful voice, familiar to every Brightonian, was new to Philip. He had never heard the man sing before.
The music moved him strangely, and gave him an increased sense of loneliness. Eweretta used to sing such ballads. She had a low, sweet voice of a marvellous clearness and purity—not unusual in Canadian singers. She sang without apparent effort, as “Blind Harry” was singing now.
Philip placed a coin in the blind man’s little box, and with a choking sensation turned back. It was high tide, and the waves broke sullenly upon the shingle.
“I can’t stand this any longer,” Philip told himself. “I must go back to Hastings. I, who have so sought solitude, feel now that it will drive me mad! I could even put up with Uncle Robert’s quotations to-night, rather than be alone.”
Lights gleamed from the “Metropole” through the mist.