"Yes, you do; you taught it to me."
He sat back in his chair, trying to think. But all he could think of was how immeasurably he was below both these women.
"Will you forgive me?" he said suddenly, almost miserably. He meant to say more, but she rose, and at the moment he heard a step behind him. He thought her hand touched his head for a second, and that he heard her answer, "Yes"; but he was not sure, for just then Mrs. Rhodes spoke to them, and they all three had to pretend that they thought nothing unusual had been going on.
They received their mail next day, and were all busy reading letters, when Mrs. Rhodes gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Oh, just hear this! Little Miss Huntington's old aunt is dead."
There was an exclamation from every one.
"Yes," she went on reading, with a faint little conventional tone of sympathy in her voice; "she died ten days ago--very suddenly, of heart-disease."
"Oh, poor little Lois! I am so sorry for her!" It was Alice Lancaster's voice.
But Keith did not hear any more. His heart was aching, and he was back among the shrubbery of The Lawns. All that he knew was that Rhodes and Mrs. Rhodes were expressing sympathy, and that Mrs. Lancaster, who had not said a word after the first exclamation, excused herself and left the saloon. Keith made up his mind promptly. He went up on deck. Mrs. Lancaster was sitting alone far aft in the shadow. Her back was toward him, and her hand was to her eyes. He went up to her. She did not look up; but Keith felt that she knew it was he.
"You must go to her," she said.