It was autumn then, and the bosom of the river was covered with brown and yellow leaves from the trees on its banks. There was an 302 acrid smell in the air, too, which always comes with the end of summer.
He thought Marie was pleased to see him—certainly the color deepened a little in her pale face when she first saw him.
But she had changed! Oh, how she had changed, he thought sadly. There was not much left of the little girl who had first of all attracted his boyish fancy.
He talked of everything under the sun, rattling on in his usual haphazard manner, and she listened gravely, sometimes smiling, but hardly speaking.
He did not mention Chris or tell her that they were sharing rooms— much more expensive rooms than he could possibly have afforded alone; but Chris had insisted on paying the difference.
It was just as he was going, and Millicent had left them together for a little while, that Marie said suddenly:
"Tommy—do you know that it's a month to-day since—Mr. Dakers died?"
He started and flushed in confusion.
"Is it? A month! How the time flies, doesn't it?"
"Yes." She was looking out across the open country at the back of the little house, and he thought he had never before seen such sadness in anyone's face.