“To the Mediterranean and the Holy Land. I never thoroughly did the Nile, and it is a grand place for a winter’s cruise.”
She sat silent again.
I would have given much to have known what her thoughts were.
“Yes, Egypt is a very lovely country in the winter for those who have the heart to enjoy it. I trust you will land me as soon as possible at the first American port you draw near. I shall go back to my old life—go back to Thornycroft.”
How that name thrilled me.
It was our home, the country seat I had purchased, and where we had once been more or less happy—when I fled, I had left papers making it over to her.
“Then you still own the old place?” I asked, with assumed carelessness, not desiring to show the keen interest I felt.
“Why, certainly; you did not think I had sold that—that dear old place?”
“Well, I didn’t know—associations are sometimes painful, even distasteful, when one assumes new obligations.”
“But you—your tastes are the same—I have seen it in many things, even the shade of color in the hangings you used to like.”