. . !
She remained silent for a while.
"Aren't you anxious to see the ship?" I asked.
She lowered her head still more so that I could not see anything of her
face.
"I don't know," she murmured.
I had already the suspicion that she did not know her own feelings. All
this work of the merest chance had been so unexpected, so sudden. And
she had nothing to fall back upon, no experience but such as to shake her
belief in every human being. She was dreadfully and pitifully forlorn.
It was almost in order to comfort my own depression that I remarked
cheerfully:
"Well, I know of somebody who must be growing extremely anxious to see
you."
"I am before my time," she confessed simply, rousing herself. "I had
nothing to do. So I came out."
I had the sudden vision of a shabby, lonely little room at the other end
of the town. It had grown intolerable to her restlessness. The mere
thought of it oppressed her. Flora de Barral was looking frankly at her
chance confidant,
"And I came this way," she went on. "I appointed the time myself
yesterday, but Captain Anthony would not have minded.
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