John Derringham had certainly had a look of aroused
passion in his eyes when he had pressed her hand in a lingered good
night; he had even said some words of a more advanced insinuation as to
his intentions towards her than he had ever done before. They were never
exact--always some fugitive hint to which afterwards she would try to
fix some meaning as she reviewed their meetings. She had not seen him at
breakfast because she never came down in the morning until eleven or
twelve, and he had already gone out, she heard, when she did descend.
It followed then that either he had received some disturbing letter by
the post--only one on Good Friday--or something had occurred during his
visit to his old master. It would be her business to find out which of
these two things it was. Could the Professor be married, and might there
be some woman in the family? Or was it nothing to do with the Professor
or with a letter, or was there a more present reason? Had Cora Lutworth
attracted him with her youth and high spirits? They were walking ahead
now, and she could hear his laugh and see how they were enjoying
themselves.
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