“He looks like a monk himself,” whispered Mary, “he wouldn’t look at us for any thing.”
“Halt!” commanded the small military voice near the monument. He turned to look at the children; Tessa was close enough to feel the sunshine in his eyes although his face was not towards her; he stood watching the soldiers as they tramped on at the word of command; her dress brushed against him, she could have laid her hand on his arm; lifting her eyes with all her grief and disappointment at his indifference she met his fully; they were grave and very dark, not one gleam of recognition; how greatly he had changed! His eyes appeared larger, not so deep set as she remembered them, and there were many, many white threads running through his hair. Had Naughty Nan effected all this? With a slight inclination of his head he passed on.
“He does look as if he had a ‘mind to do or not do’ something,” said Mary! “I hope that he can’t sleep nights. He almost slew me with his eyes; I can’t see why such naughty hearts should look through such eyes!”
“They don’t,” said Tessa, “a good heart was looking through those eyes.”
“H’m! I believe it!”
Tessa had walked three blocks in a reverie, scolding herself for her sympathy with the changed face, trying to feel indignant that he had passed her by so coolly, and trying to despise him for so soon forgetting what she could never forget, when, lo! there he stood again, face to face with her, speaking eagerly, his hand already touching hers.
“Miss Tessa, what has happened to your eyes?”
“Excuse me,” she stammered, “I did not see you.”
“How do you do?” he asked more coolly as she withdrew her hand.
“Did you not just pass me in the Park?”