He never for an instant connected his niece's pallor with Philip
Vansittart. He would have ridiculed the idea of people being twice in
each other's company, and breaking their hearts with longing afterwards.
* * * * *
Mr. Hayward, his sister, and Virginia, were dining at a Swiss _table
d'hote_. Exactly opposite were two empty places. The fish had been
served, and two gentlemen came in and took them. One was Mr. Philip
Vansittart. At sight of him the crimson blood rushed to Virginia's
cheeks, then ebbed away, leaving her deathly pale. For a moment she
thought she must swoon or die from the intensity of her feelings. Philip
was scarcely less moved, though, being a man, he was better able to
control his agitation. When he had time to look more narrowly at
Virginia, he saw a mighty change in her. His heart smote him; and
yet--had he not suffered? Great heaven! had his been a bed of roses? Had
he not agonised after her?
Dinner over, the party went off into the garden. A mutual unspoken
desire made Vansittart and Virginia steal off together to a secluded
spot. Twilight was creeping on--the last glow of a rosy sunset was
fading away; the strains of a delicious waltz were borne towards them.
Vansittart felt his passion mastering him. He made a herculean effort
over himself.
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