A thrush
came out and sang to him. A west wind brought him wafts of perfume from
the gardens below. The serenity of the perfect afternoon mocked his
disturbed frame of mind. What was the use of it all? The longer he
remained here the more abject he became! . . . Suddenly Edith
reappeared alone. She came across the lawn to him with a slight frown
upon her forehead. He lay there and watched her until the last moment.
Then he rose and dragged out a chair for her.
"So the lovers' interview is over!" he ventured to observe. "You do not
seem altogether transported with delight."
"I am very much pleased indeed to see Mr. Bomford," she assured him.
"I," he murmured, "am glad that I have seen him."
Edith looked at him covertly.
"I do not think," she said, "that I quite approve of your tone this
afternoon."
"I am quite sure," he retorted, "that I do not approve of yours."
She made a little grimace at him.
"Let us agree, then, to be mutually dissatisfied. I do wish," she added
softly, "that I knew why father had sent for Mr. Bomford. It is
nothing to do with his work, I am sure of that. He knows that Paul
hates coming away from the office on week days."
Burton groaned.
"Is his name Paul?"
"Certainly it is," she answered.
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