A thin smile curled Ralph’s red lips and his eyes seemed to grow more wistful. ‘I’ve been ill more than a month,’ he said. ‘But no matter, Nellie Brand told you and—-’
‘Of course I could not stay at the National. I felt I must see you. I didn’t know how. … My feet turned towards St. James’ Park. I stood on the little bridge thinking. You know I was very fond of you, Ralph, only it was in my way and you weren’t satisfied.’ She looked at him sideways, so that her bright brown eyes might have all their charm; his pale eyes, wistful and dying, were fixed on her, not intently as a few moments before, but vaguely, and the thought stirred in her that he might die before her eyes. In that case what was she to do? ‘Are you listening?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, I’m listening,’ he answered, his smile was
