"Is that what you did at the Ecole des Beaux Arts? Did you behave like all that or did you cultivate the indiwidool?"
He shook hands again, solemnly, with Mr. Tappan, stepped back, and joined her.
"Where on earth have you been hiding?" she inquired.
"You said that if I carved certain cabalistic signs on the big beech-tree you would presently appear to me in a pink cloud—you faithless little wretch!"
"How could I? Three motor-loads arrived from Iron Hill before I was half dressed, and ever since I've been doing my traditional duty; and," in a lower voice, "I was perfectly crazy to go to the beech-tree all the time. Did you wait long, you poor boy?"
"Man is born to wait. I came back just now to find you.... I told Kathleen," he added, radiant.
"What?" she whispered, flushing deliciously. "Oh, pooh! I told her about it this morning—the very first thing. We both snivelled. I didn't sleep at all last night.... There's something I wish to tell you——"
The gay smile suddenly died out in her eyes; a strange, wistful tenderness softened them, touching her lips, too, which always gave that very young, almost childish pathos to her expression. She put out her hand instinctively and touched him.
"I want to be alone with you, Duane—for a little while."
"Shall I go to the beech-tree and wait?"