When they rose from the table, the old man motioned to Felicia to come with him on to the balcony, which ran continuously past the dining-room and salon windows.
“Is it not good news?”
She hung her head, and faltered out,—
“Yes.”
“Will you still be glad to see Raine again?”
“You know—how can I tell you?”
“My dear child,” he said, laying his hand on hers, as it rested on the iron balustrade, “do you know what I hope Raine is coming for?”
Felicia shook her head.
“Oh, I dare not think it—we must not speak of it. I don't think I shall be able to meet him.”
“Can I help you?” asked the old man, tenderly. “You can tell an old man things without shame that you cannot tell a young one. I have grown very fond of you, my child. To part with you would be a great wrench. And that this other should be has become one of the dearest wishes of my life.”