There was a touch of weariness in her manner when she greeted him, and the shadow had deepened in her eyes; but aside from this there was no change; her beauty was as rare and wonderful as ever. He drank it in by stealth; and the recollection of those months he had passed without the potent spell of her presence dropped from him in a twinkling; yet because of this, he seemed to have lost ground in his absence. He had lived beyond his unspoken devotion. He had toiled and laboured for her as one only toils and labours for the one they love; and he recognized that he had returned to less than he expected. Would he never get beyond this irksome regard, in which he felt he was held, because of the affection she supposed him to have had for Stephen Landray?
“You received my letter from St. Louis?” he said, scarcely knowing where to begin the conversation.
“Yes, days ago, Mr. Benson.”
“At first I was quite unable to satisfy myself with a letter, I found it was easier to write Judge Bradly; it was less difficult to write you then, knowing you would be in a manner familiar with all that I had learned.”
“I understood perfectly.”
Her composure was beyond what he had anticipated, and he was grateful for the restraint she put upon herself.
“I want you to tell me all!” she went on. “All you did, and all you found. I am trying to understand it. Do you know, that in spite of the conviction I have had since last winter that he was lost to me, I am still unprepared for the positive word you bring. It is all new each time I think of it; and I think of nothing else! You are sure—sure? There is no doubt in your mind?”
Her glance searched his face beseechingly.
“You mustn't ask me to give you any false hope,” he said with grave kindness.
“If I could only go back to the doubt. Even to that; for this is so much worse. This leaves me nothing!”