The light of
the match flared upon his face, that dark, strong face she loved so
well. How tired he looked. A great longing took possession of her to
step forward and speak to him, but she restrained herself almost by
force.
Her friend was speaking to him, and about her.
"Such a lovely woman," he was saying, "with the clearest and most
beautiful grey eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like a dream. I
can't find her anywhere. It is a most mysterious business."
"You are falling in love, Tom," answered Geoffrey absently, as he threw
away the match and walked on. "Don't do that; it is an unhappy thing to
do," and he sighed.
He was going! Oh, heaven! she would never, never see him more! A cold
horror seized upon Beatrice, her blood seemed to stagnate. She trembled
so much that she could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she looked after
him, with such a face of woe that even the policeman, who had repented
him of his forbearance, and was returning to send her away, stood
astonished. The two men had gone about ten yards, when something
induced Beatrice's friend to look back.
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