"You thought I had too, eh?"
"No," said Rotha; "not then. I knew it was her doing."
"It was wholly her doing. Whenever I came and asked for you, I was always told that you were out, or sick in bed, or in some way quite unable to see me. And my going was extremely sudden, so that I had no time to take measures; other than to write to you and enclose my address."
"I never got it. And all those times I was always at home, and perfectly well, and sometimes—"
"Well—what?"
"Sometimes I was standing in the hall up stairs, leaning over the balusters and listening to your steps in the hall."
Colour rose in Rotha's cheek, and her voice took a tone which told tales; and Mr. Southwode thought he did begin to recognize his little friend of old time.
"And then—" Rotha went on, "you know what I used to be, and can guess that I was not very patient."
"I can guess that. And what are you now?"
She flashed one of her quick looks at him, smiled and blushed. "I have grown a little older—" she said.