She almost wished that he had not found
her out at all. And so she welcomed him with a great restraint.
"It was kind of you to come," she said. "How did you know I was here?"
"I called at your house in London. The caretaker gave me the address," he
replied. He took her hand and, holding it, looked with the careful
scrutiny of a lover into her face.
"You have needed those memories of your one day to fall back upon," he
said, regretfully. "Already you have needed them. I am very sorry."
Sylvia did not deny the implication of the words that "troubles" had
come. She turned to him, grateful that he should so clearly have
remembered what she had said upon that day.
"Thank you," she answered, gently. "My father would like to know you. I
wrote to you that I had come to live with him."
"Yes."
"You were surprised?" she asked.
"No," he answered, quietly. "You came to some important decision on the
very top of the Aiguille d'Argentiere. That I knew at the time, for I
watched you. When I got your letter, I understood what the decision was."
To leave Chamonix--to break completely with her life--it was just to that
decision she would naturally have come just on that spot during that one
sunlit hour. So much his own love of the mountains taught him. But Sylvia
was surprised at his insight; and what with that and the proof that their
day together had remained vividly in his thoughts, she caught back
something of his comradeship.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173