I held my breath, scarcely believing my eyes. It was Muriel.
Slowly she rose to meet me with a majestic but rather tragic air, and without a word stretched forth her hand.
“Why, Muriel!” I cried gladly. “You’re the very last person I expected!”
“I suppose so,” she said, adding in a low, strained voice, “Close the door. I have come to speak with you.”
I obeyed her; then, returning to her side, stood eager for her words. The enigmatical influence of Aline was upon her, for I saw that to her dark, brilliant eyes there had already returned that love-light which once had shone upon me, and noticed how her sweet, well-remembered voice trembled with an excitement which she strove vainly to conceal. Her dress was of grey stuff, plainly made as always, but her black hat with a touch of blue in it suited her well, and as she sat before me in the chair wherein the mysterious Temptress had sat, she seemed extremely graceful and more handsome than ever.
“You have, I suppose, almost forgotten me during this long separation, haven’t you?” she faltered with abruptness, after some hesitation. Apparently she had carefully prepared some little diplomatic speech, but in the excitement of the moment all recollection of it had passed from her mind.
“Forgotten you, Muriel!” I echoed, gazing earnestly into her soft, beautiful eyes. “When we last met, did I not tell you that I should never forget?”
Her breast heaved and fell; her countenance grew troubled.
“Surely it is you who have forgotten me?” I said, with a touch of bitter reproach. “You have cast me aside in preference for another. Tell me what I have done that you should treat me thus?”
“Nothing!” she responded nervously, her grave eyes downcast.