The naturalness of his announcement, as the only and complete reply to her question, forbade resentment. Yet her face turned scarlet, and when she spoke, after a few moments, it was with a cold finality.
“I belong to the absent—entirely and forever. Nothing can change my hope; or make me forget or want to forget.”
Turl looked at her with the mixture of tenderness and perplexity which he had shown before; but this time it was more poignant.
“I see I must wait,” he said, quietly.
There was a touch of anger in her tone as she retorted, with an impatient laugh, “It will be a long time of waiting.”
He sighed deeply; then bade her good afternoon in his usual courteous manner, and left her alone. When the door had closed, her eyes followed him in imagination, with a frown of beginning dislike.
CHAPTER XII — LARCHER PUTS THIS AND THAT TOGETHER
Two or three days after this, Turl dropped in to see Larcher, incidentally to leave some sketches, mainly for the pleasanter passing of an hour in a gray afternoon. Upon the announcement of another visitor, whose name was not given, Turl took his departure. At the foot of the stairs, he met the other visitor, a man, whom the servant had just directed to Larcher's room. The hallway was rather dark as the incomer and outgoer passed each other; but, the servant at that instant lighting the gas, Turl glanced around for a better look, and encountered the other's glance at the same time turned after himself. Each halted, Turl for a scarce perceptible instant, the other for a moment longer. Then Turl passed out, the servant having run to open the door; and the new visitor went on up the stairs.