Time thus rolls us on to a February afternoon,divided by fifteen months from the parting of Elfride and her lover in the brown stubble field towards the sea.
Two men obviously not Londoners,and with a touch of foreignness in their look,met by accident on one of the gravel walks leading across Hyde Park.The younger,more given to looking about him than his fellow,saw and noticed the approach of his senior some time before the latter had raised his eyes from the ground,upon which they were bent in an abstracted gaze that seemed habitual with him.
Mr.Knight--indeed it is!exclaimed the younger man.
Ah,Stephen Smith!said Knight.
Simultaneous operations might now have been observed progressing in both,the result being that an expression less frank and impulsive than the first took possession of their features.It was manifest that the next words uttered were a superficial covering to constraint on both sides.
Have you been in England long?said Knight.
Only two days,said Smith.India ever since?
Nearly ever since.
They were making a fuss about you at St.Launces last year.I
fancy I saw something of the sort in the papers.
Yes;I believe something was said about me.