. . . I guess he'd have more
marble in his cheeks, if he saw likes o' that, Miss Falchion?"
Kilby paused and wiped his forehead.
She had listened calmly. She did not answer his question. She said:
"Kilby, I am staying at the summer hotel up there. Will you call on
me--let me see . . . . say, to-morrow afternoon?--Some one will tell you
the way, if you do not know it. . . . Ask for MRS. Falchion, Kilby, not
Miss Falchion. . . . You will come?"
"Why, yes," he replied, "you can count on me; for I'd like to hear of
things that happened after I left Apia--and how it is that you are Mrs.
Falchion, for that's mighty queer."
"You shall hear all that and more." She held out her hand to him and
smiled. He took it, and she knew that now she was gathering up the
strings of destiny.
They parted.
The two passed on, looking, in their cool elegance, as if life were the
most pleasant thing; as though the very perfume of their garments would
preserve them from that plague called trouble.
"Justine," said Mrs. Falchion, "there is one law stranger than all; the
law of coincidence. Perhaps the convenience of modern travel assists it,
but fate is in it also.
Pages:
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377