d
colour in them; and of all, none perhaps quite so poignant as the memory
of the moment, at the door of their carriage, when he said, so low that
she just heard: "Good-bye, my darling!"

He had never before called her that. Not even his touch on her cheek
under the olives equalled the simple treasure of that word. And above
the roar and clatter of the train, and the snoring of the Irishman,
it kept sounding in her ears, hour after dark hour. It was perhaps not
wonderful, that through all that night she never once looked the future
in the face--made no plans, took no stock of her position; just yielded
to memory, and to the half-dreamed sensation of his presence close
beside her. Whatever might come afterwards, she was his this night. Such
was the trance that gave to her the strange, soft, tireless immobility
which so moved her Uncle whenever he woke up.

In Paris they drove from station to station in a vehicle unfit for
three--'to stretch their legs'--as the Colonel said. Since he saw in his
niece no signs of flagging, no regret, his spirits were rising, and he
confided to Mrs. Ercott in the buffet at the Gare du Nord, when Olive
had gone to wash, that he did not think there was much in it, after all,
looking at the way she'd travelled.

But Mrs. Ercott answered:

"Haven't you ever noticed that Olive never shows what she does not want
to? She has not got those eyes for nothing."

"What eyes?"

"Eyes that see everything, and seem to see nothing."

Conscious that something was hurting her, the Colonel tried to take her
hand.

But Mrs. Ercott rose quickly, and went where he could not follow.

Thus suddenly deserted, the Colonel brooded, drumming on the little
table. What now! Dolly was unjust! Poor Dolly! He was as fond of her as
ever! Of course! How could he help Olive's being young--and pretty; how
could he help looking after her, and wanting to save her from this mess!
Thus he sat wondering, dismayed by the unreasonableness of women. It did
not enter his head that Mrs. Ercott had been almost as sleepless as
his niece, watching through closed eyes every one of those little
expeditions of his, and saying to herself: "Ah! He doesn't care how I
travel!"

She returned serene enough, concealing her 'grief,' and soon they were
once more whirling towards England.

But the future had begun to lay its hand on Olive; the spell of the past
was already losing power; the sense that it had all been a dream grew
stronge