He had a splendid climb, and when he
got back to Lucerne in the evening he was thoroughly tired, and so
hungry he flew down to his dinner.
It was nearly nine o'clock; at least if she came to-night he would be
there to see her. But of course it did not matter if she came or not,
he had conquered that ridiculous interest. He would hardly look until
he reached his table. Yes, there she was, but dipping her white
fingers in the rosewater at the very end of her repast.
And again, in spite of himself, a strange wild thrill ran through
Paul, and he knew it was what he had been subconsciously hoping for
all day--and oh, alas! it mattered exceedingly.
The lady never glanced at him. She swept from the room, her stately
graceful movements delighting his eye. He could understand and
appreciate movement--was he not accustomed to thoroughbreds, and able
to judge of their action and line?
How blank the space seemed when she had gone--dull and unspeakably
uninteresting. He became impatient with the slowness of the waiters,
who had seemed to hurry unnecessarily the night before. But at last
his meal ended, and he went out under the trees. The sky was so full
of stars it hardly seemed dark. The air was soft, and in the distance
a band played a plaintive valse tune.
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