Madam’s face was full of a strange, wistful tenderness as she spoke, and Paul Tressalia wondered why she should feel so strangely drawn toward Editha. It was a matter of wonder to all.
“Does that mean that you think we had better follow Mr. Dalton and his daughter to Saratoga?” he asked.
“Yes; but first I must go to the White Mountains, since I proposed the trip, and others would be disappointed if it was given up. I must postpone my trip to Saratoga until my return,” returned madam, with a look which plainly said she wished she had not planned the trip to the mountains at all.
“I wonder——” Paul began, and then stopped.
“Well? And so do I,” laughed his companion, after waiting a moment and he did not go on.
“I was pondering the question whether it is best for me to go to Saratoga at all,” he said, gravely.
“And why not?”
“If Editha is really on the gain, it would perhaps be better for me to return at once to England and not see her again.”
“Does it hurt you so, my friend?” asked madam, pityingly. “You must conquer that, if possible, though I myself know how hard a thing that is to do, and it seems cold advice to give. But it would give me pleasure if you would accompany us to Saratoga. We know nothing about the ins and outs of the place, and it would really be a comfort to have a pilot.”
“Then that settles the matter. I will go with you,” he said.