The rest of which conversation lingered long after his departure in Katherine's memory.
Now he had gone, and life at the pension resumed its dreary, monotonous round. Raine Chetwynd would have been surprised had he known the change wrought by his departure.
Felicia obviously shared in the general depression, and, like Katherine, had memories of bright hours in which the sun seemed to shine exclusively for her own individual benefit. She thought of them wretchedly, as she stood by the window watching the flakes fall through the grey air.
A voice behind her caused her to start, though the words seemed to come out of some far distance. It was old Mr. Chetwynd. He had been somewhat ailing the last day or two, unable to go out. In a fit of restlessness, he had wandered down to the salon.
“Lost in the snow?” he asked, coming to her side.
“Yes,” she replied, with a half sigh. “I think so. Quite. I was beginning to doubt whether I should find my way safe home again, and to grow almost tearful.”
“You have no business with low spirits, my dear,” he replied, with a smile. “You should leave that to old people. Their hearts get lost in the snow sometimes, and when they feel them gradually getting stone-cold and frozen, then they may be excused for despairing.”
“What is to prevent it from being the same with young hearts?”
“The warm blood of their youth.”
“That may keep them warm, but it doesn't prevent their being lost,” said Felicia, argumentatively.