"We can never find him here!" Muriel declared. She had been obliged, in order not to lose her fellow-searcher, to cling to his arm, and her fingers fastened as convulsively about it as the hands of a drowning man grasp the floating log for rescue. "He'll know that, and I'm sure he'll go at once to the hotel. Let's go there ourselves—at once—at once! Call a cab."
Not a cab, however, was in sight, and this von Klausen explained to her, bending to her ear.
"We must walk," he said. "It is not so far—if you are not too tired?"
"No, no, I'm not too tired—or I won't be if we can only hurry."
They started slowly, by necessity, on their way.
"But I am sorry," said von Klausen, "that you are afraid. You are afraid—of me?"
His tone was hurt. She looked up at him impulsively and saw genuine sorrow in his bright eyes. They were very young eyes.
"Oh, no," she said, "not of you. I know you wouldn't——"
"Yet," he interrupted, "you were a little afraid of me, I think, this morning."
"Not afraid—even then. And now—well, I remember the talk we had afterward. I hope you haven't forgotten it."