Hastings laughed a short, impatient laugh.
“I suppose we’re all egoists,” he said. “But I don’t mind confessing to you that it would be easier to face the music if I knew what Elenore did wish—whether she cared.”
There was silence again. Trevanion’s figure in the background grew tense. Then the lad laughed lightly.
“You hadn’t asked her, you know,” he said, “and Elenore isn’t the kind of a girl to wear her heart on her sleeve. But I know Elenore pretty well, and I think she cared—really.”
Hastings flung his arm in front of his face with a gesture that was almost boyish.
“Elenore!” he whispered to the cold comfort of his coat sleeve. For virile youth loves strongly, humanly.
Young Carrington’s eyes watched him with a wonderful light. Even the flickering candlelight showed Trevanion that.
Then Hastings rammed his hands in his pockets and drew a deep breath.
“Thank Heaven, she’s on the other side of the ocean! It will be easier for her, after all. Harder to realize,” he said, fervently.
Young Carrington drew a quick breath, a breath of relief. “I thought you’d feel that way,” he said, quietly.