* * * * *
Thinking of these things now, he leaned heavily forward, elbows on the
little table. And, suddenly unbidden, before his haunted eyes rose the
white portico of Silverside, and the greensward glimmered, drenched in
sunshine, and a slim figure in white stood there, arms bare, tennis-bat
swinging in one tanned little hand.
Voices were sounding in his ears--Drina's laughter, Lansing's protest;
Billy shouting to his eager pack; his sister's calm tones, admonishing
the young--and through it all, _her_ voice, clear, hauntingly sweet,
pronouncing his name.
And he set his lean jaws tight and took a new grip on his pipe-stem, and
stared, with pain-dulled eyes, at the white wall opposite.
But on the blank expanse the faintest tinge of colour appeared, growing
clearer, taking shape as he stared; and slowly, slowly, under the soft
splendour of her hair, two clear eyes of darkest blue opened under the
languid lids and looked at him, and looked and looked until he closed
his own, unable to endure the agony.
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