He favoured me with another grim look.
"Well, that all depends—I haven't quite decided yet. I want to take Athol here home with me."
"Home——" There was a pathetic catch in her voice. Her eyes went round the little room that meant "home" to her.
"Yes, that will be nice," she faltered. Then, with a brave effort, she broke into a lively conversation about the North. As she talked an inspiration seemed to come to her. A light beaconed in her eyes. Her face, fine as a cameo, became eager, rapt. She was telling him of the magical summers, of the midnight sunsets, of the glorious largess of the flowers, of the things that meant so much to her. She was wonderfully animated. As I watched her I thought what a perfect little lady she was; and I felt proud of her.
He was listening carefully, with evident interest. Gradually his look of stern antagonism had given way to one of attention. Yet I could see he was not listening so much to her as he was studying her. His intent gaze never moved from her face.
Then I talked a while. The darkness had descended upon us, but the embers in the open fireplace lighted the room with a rosy glow. I could not see his eyes now, but I knew he was still watching us keenly. He merely answered "yes" and "no" to our questions, and his voice was very grave. Then, after a little, he rose to go.
"I'll return to the hotel with you," I said.
Berna gave us a pathetically anxious little look. There was a red spot on each cheek and her eyes were bright. I could see she wanted to cry.
"I'll be back in half an hour, dear," I said, while Garry gravely shook hands with her.
We did not speak on the way to his room. When we reached it he switched on the light and turned to me.