Page:The Yellow Book - 13.djvu/312

280 The commonplace words that divide were slipping further and further from her thought.

"Anything would do," she said, vaguely, to herself—" anything about the bazaar—about—the school."

But the command had become mere words in her brain. It was the evening of her revolt. Instead of speaking she lifted her eyes—and he had been waiting, knowing that she must, and that he would hold her in his arms. She had not resisted—she had leant her cheek against his, and put her arms around his neck. Not until they had moved apart for a moment, her cheeks flushed and she was frightened.

"Don't think, my darling," he said. "Don't, don't; we have such a little while together."

And he drew her close again.

"My little one—my love—my life," he murmured to her. "And I found you in all that darkness."

"And I you. The river was so dreadful, just as things are"

"Yes, I knew—I saw what you were feeling, and I knew—because I too"

"Yes—yes, I know—I knew"

There was a footstep on the gravel path.

"Katharine," said Lucy, despairingly, but without a start; and not until she heard her hand on the door she rose and stood by the mantel-piece.

"May I introduce Mr. Dawson, Katharine?"

Katharine was pleased to meet him, and she had plenty to say.

Lucy picked her hat up from the floor, and stood silent. Katharine thought, as she had often thought, it was a pity Lucy would not talk to strangers; she did not do herself justice. She had said a good deal on several subjects, before Tom Dawson rose.

Rh