His behavior he told himself was
contemptible.
Yet, at a quarter to six, he went out--and seeing a little cluster
of daisies growing amongst the grass bordering the path, he plucked
one and set it in his button-hole!
A few minutes before the hour he entered the station and glanced
sharply around at the many groups scattered about in the neighbourhood
of the bookstall. There was no sign of Mlle. Dorian. He walked
around the booking office without seeing her and glanced into the
waiting-room. Then, looking up at the station clock, he saw that the
hour had come, and as he stood there staring upward he felt a timid
touch upon his shoulder.
He turned--and she was standing by his side!
She was Parisian from head to foot, simply but perfectly gowned. A
veil hung from her hat and half concealed her face, but could not
hide her wonderful eyes nor disguise the delightful curves of her red
lips. Stuart automatically raised his hat, and even as he did so
wondered what she should have said and done had she suddenly found
Gaston Max standing at his elbow! He laughed shortly.
"You are angry with me," said Mlle. Dorian, and Stuart thought that
her quaint accent was adorable. "Or are you angry with yourself for
seeing me?"
"I am angry with myself," he replied, "for being so weak."
"Is it so weak," she said, rather tremulously, "not to judge a woman
by what she seems to be and not to condemn her before you hear what
she has to say? If that is weak, I am glad; I think it is how a man
should be.
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