He was undeniably cross, and she was glad to escape to her room as soon as they reached the hotel, while she was inwardly rejoicing at the prospect of having Madam Sylvester’s companionship for awhile at least.
Madam stood and watched her as she left them and moved away with her father.
Her face was very sad and her voice trembled slightly as, turning to her brother, she asked:
“Of whom does she remind you, Gustave?”
“Of no one in particular,” he returned, indifferently.
“Not of——” and she bent forward and whispered the rest of the sentence in his ear.
“No, not if my memory serves me right,” he said, shaking his head; “and yet,” he added, “there may be an expression about the eyes that is familiar. I had not thought of it before.”
“Gustave, her name is Editha,” madam said, in a low voice, her face very pale, and with an eager look into her brother’s face.
“There are doubtless a thousand Edithas in the world; do not allow yourself to become imaginative at this late day, Estelle,” he returned; and, dropping the matter there, madam signified her readiness to return to the hotel also.