"Oh yes—yes. I'll mind!" he says impatiently. "Only send her here."
He never knows if the time is long or short that he waits—waits with his heart beating so hard and fast that he can hear it above all those other sounds without. Waits in a sort of sullen desperation, knowing that his pain will be but the fiercer, his anger but the hotter, for the interview he has demanded.
Then there comes a faint rustle of silken skirts, the door opens, there is a sweet subtle perfume of orange-flowers and roses, and before him stands the loveliest vision of womanhood that his eyes have ever rested on.
One moment he looks at her, and all his anger melts away, and an unutterable reproach speaks in his eyes, that are "bad" blue eyes no longer, but only very sad and very haunting.
"Oh, Lauraine!" he says, and his arms go out to clasp her as in the old sweet days that are gone for ever, and sobbing wildly, the girl falls upon his breast.
CHAPTER III
A moment, and she remembers! With flushed cheeks and tear-wet eyes she wrenches herself away, and looks up at the face of her old playmate. "Oh, Keith!" she says, "I—I was so glad to see you!"
The poor pitiful pretence does not blind him. He looks at her sternly. "Indeed? And may I ask for an explanation of your conduct? I think it is due to me. Why have you broken faith?"
She turns deadly pale.