Page:My mortal enemy - 1926.djvu/30

 attended by a tall, elegant young man in a blue-grey ulster. He had one arm through hers, and in the other hand he carried a walking-stick.

“This is Ewan Gray,” said Mrs. Henshawe, after she had embraced us. “Doubtless you have seen him play in Chicago. He is meeting an early train, too, so we planned to salute the morn together, and left Oswald to breakfast alone.”

The young man took our hand-luggage and walked beside me to the ferryboat, asking polite questions about our trip. He was a Scotchman, of an old theatrical family, a handsome fellow, with a broad, fair-skinned face, sand-coloured hair and moustache, and fine grey eyes, deep-set and melancholy, with black lashes. He took us up to the deck of the ferry, and then Mrs. Henshawe told him he had better leave us. “You must be there when Esther’s train gets in—and remember, you are to bring her to dine with us to-morrow night. There will be no one else.”

“Thank you, Myra.” He stood looking down