“I have not seen her since she was a child. She is the daughter of an old friend of mine, who died many years ago.”
“And with that claim on you, you keep her waiting?”
“Yes.”
He let his stick drop on the ground and looked at Catherine; but he offered no explanation of his strange conduct. She was a little disappointed. “You have been some time away from your Home,” she said; still searching for his reasons. “When do you go back?”
“I go back,” he answered, “when I know whether I may thank God for being the happiest man living.”
They were both silent.
Chapter XLIV. Think of Consequences.
Catherine listened to the fall of water in the basin of the fountain. She was conscious of a faint hope—a hope unworthy of her—that Kitty might get weary of the gold-fishes, and might interrupt them. No such thing happened; no stranger appeared on the path which wound through the garden. She was alone with him. The influences of the still and fragrant summer evening were influences which breathed of love.
“Have you thought of me since yesterday?” he asked gently.