“Paul! Paul!” she cried. There was joy in her voice which Mr. Wainbridge had never heard in it before. “Oh, Paul!” She moved quickly towards him and gave him her hand. “I am so glad, so glad. When did you come? Why did you not come long ago?”
Mr. Wainbridge inspected Paul Harvey during this crisis. He was brown, strong, and lithe; standing by him Mr. Wainbridge appeared weak, effeminate.
“This is Mr. Wainbridge,” said Launa.
She wished him just then at Cairo or anywhere else.
“How do you do?” said both men.
“Miss Archer has just promised to marry me.”
He wore an air of ownership and went nearer Launa. There was a slight degree of defiance in his attitude.
“I congratulate you,” said Paul; “you are very lucky. The most fortunate of men.”
“Sit down,” said Launa, with a smile at Paul which Mr. Wainbridge endeavoured to imagine was merely kind. Launa assured herself that hers was the smile of a married woman to some brother of whom she is fond. “Tell me about home, about ‘Solitude,’ about the canoe, and the rivers.”
They talked, while Mr. Wainbridge listened, not uninterested, but surprised. Launa was new, different. Paul had introduced another element into the game—an element of doubt.