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Mlle. Coira O'Hara sat alone upon the stone bench at the hither end of the rond point. With a leisurely hand she put fine stitches into a mysterious garment of white, with lace on it, and over her not too arduous toil she sang,
Young Arthur Benham and Coira O'Hara came together down under the trees from the house. They walked swiftly, and the boy was a step in advance, his face white with excitement and anger. He began to speak while he was still some distance away.
Marie that he should be half glad and half disappointed at not finding Coira O'Hara in her place at the rond point. It left him free to do what he wished to do make a careful reconnaissance of the whole garden enclosure but it left him empty of something he had, without conscious thought, looked forward to.
And she hid her face, for she knew that he would not even if it were true. "Coira!" whispered the man on the couch, and she raised her head. In the half darkness he could not have seen how she was suffering. Her face was only a warm blur to him, vague and sweet and beautiful, with tender eyes. He said: "I think I'm falling asleep. My head is so very, very queer! What is the matter with my head?
Over it the man and the boy looked at each other in silence. Young Arthur Benham's face was white, and it was strained and contorted with its first grief. But first griefs do not last very long. Coira O'Hara had told the truth before the year was out the lad would be glad of his freedom.
He cried: "I shall tell them, Coira, that if that wretched, half-baked lad should search this wide world round, from Paris on to Paris again, and if he should spend a lifetime searching, he would never find the beauty and the sweetness and the tenderness and the true faith that he left behind at La Lierre nor the hundredth part of them.
A queen among goddesses! ... One would not have them laugh and make little jokes.... Make eyes at love-sick boys. No, indeed!" Certainly Mlle. Coira O'Hara was not making eyes at the love-sick boy who followed at her heel this afternoon.
"It is not good-bye," said he. "I shall see you soon again and I hope, often often, Coira." The words had a flat and foolish sound, but he could find no others. It was not easy to speak. "I suppose I must not ask to see your father?" said he. And she told him that her father had locked himself in his own room and would see no one would not even open his door to take in food. Ste.
They heard us on the stairs. I stumbled and fell. For God's sake, Coira, be quick!" The girl fumbled desperately with the clumsy key, and dropped upon her knees to see the better. Once she said, in a whisper: "I can't turn it. It won't turn." And at that Richard Hartley pushed her out of the way and lent his greater strength to the task.
Coira, do you think I might be kissed before I go to sleep?" She gave a little cry of intolerable anguish. It seemed to her that she was being tortured beyond all reason or endurance. She felt suddenly very weak, and she was afraid that she was going to faint away. She laid her face down upon the couch where Ste. Marie's head lay. Her cheek was against his and her hair across his eyes.
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