“He seems to understand everyone so.”
“Yes; that is Raine's way—he gets behind externals. I have missed him sadly since he left.”
“Yes,” said Felicia, softly.
“And I have been wishing for him all day.”
“So have I!” said Felicia, under the spell.
Her tone suddenly awakened the old man. His eyes flashed into intelligence as a darkened theatre can leap into light. The girl met them, recoiled a step at their brilliance, and shrank as if a search-light had laid bare her soul.
She had scarcely known what she had been saying. A quivering second. Was there time to recover? She struggled desperately. If the tears had not come, she would have won. But they rose in a flood, and she turned away her head sharply, burning with shame.
The old man laid his thin hand on her shoulder, and bent round to look into her face.
“My dear little girl—my poor child!” he said gently, patting her shoulder.
For all her shrinking, she felt the tenderness of the touch. To have withdrawn from it would have been to repulse. But it added to her wretchedness. She could not speak, only cry, with the helpless consciousness that every second's silence and every tear were issues whence oozed more and more of her secret.