"I have not complained of its being dull, aunt," replied Edith. "But if you wish to return on Thursday, I will be ready to accompany you."
Soon after this, Edith Hamilton left her aunt's room, and went to one of the drawing-rooms of the hotel at which they were staying, where she sat down near a recess window that overlooked a beautiful promenade. She had been here only a few minutes, when she was joined by a handsome youth, to whom Edith said—
"How could you venture to the door of my aunt's parlour? I'm half afraid she detected your presence, for she said, immediately afterward, that we would return to London on the day after to-morrow."
"So soon? Well, I'll be there next week, and it will be strange if, with your consent, we don't meet often."
"Edward Hamden is expected in a few days," replied Edith, her voice slightly faltering.
Her companion looked at her searchingly for a few moments, and then said—
"You have never met him?"
"Never."
"But when you do meet him, the repugnance you now feel may instantly vanish."
A shadow passed over Edith's face, and she answered in a voice that showed the remark—the tone of which conveyed more than the words themselves—to have been felt as a question of her constancy.