“Ah! you are good—dear, and good, and kind,” replied the girl; “but—”
“Well, perhaps you can explain a little enigma in Raine's letter!”
She looked up at him quickly. For the first time, her cheek flushed with a ray of hope.
“Can you explain this?” he asked, taking the letter from his pocket, and placing it so that they both could read as they leant over the balcony.
He pointed to a sentence.
“I am coming on my own account as well as yours. This, so that you should not be conceited, and think you are the only magnet in Geneva that draws
Your loving
“Raine.”
“There!” he said, hastily withdrawing it. “Perhaps I ought not to have shown it to you. But Raine never talks idly; and I have ventured to believe that Miss Felicia Graves is the magnet in question. Goodbye, my dear. I think I have committed enough indiscretion for one day.”
She gave his hand a little caressing squeeze, and, when he had gone, remained a long time on the balcony, deep in troubled thoughts. Who was the magnet—she or Katherine?