I was annoyed with
myself for my share in the conversation so far. Mrs. Falchion's eyes had
scarcely left that group around the captain's door, although she had
appeared acutely interested in what I was saying. Now she said:
"You recite very well. I feel impressed, but I fancy it is more your
voice than those fine sentiments; for, after all, you cannot glorify the
dead body. Look at the mummy of Thothmes at Boulak, and think what
Cleopatra must look like now. And please let us talk about something
else. Let us--" She paused.
I followed the keen, shaded glance of her eyes, and saw, coming from the
group by the captain's door, Galt Roscoe. He moved in our direction.
Suddenly he paused. His look was fixed upon Mrs. Falchion. A flush passed
over his face, not exactly confusing, but painful, and again it left him
pale, and for a moment he stood motionless. Then he came forward to us.
He bowed to me, then looked hard at her. She held out her hand.
"Mr. Roscoe, I think?" she said. "An old friend," she added, turning to
me. He gravely took her extended hand and said:
"I did not think to see you here, Miss--"
"MRS.
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