Windemere's pathetic,
patient little voice.
As they finally steamed by the lighthouse, and fixed eager eyes upon
the city of their destination, many of these were dimmed with regret
and sadness. Even Mrs. Campbell, who had been very quiet of late,
looked sober as she leaned against the bulwark, handsomer than ever in
her plain traveling suit of tan, and Carnegie, between Lady Moreham and
Faith, felt his heart fail him as he thought of the lonely, busy life
before him for the next two years. And then? He turned to the girl
with a smile that concealed only partially the quiver of his lips.
"Do you know, it is just thirty days since I first saw you, and it is
difficult to believe that I have not known you always. I remember, you
and Miss Hope were standing together, on deck, and I thought how
marvelously alike you were, but I have never once mistaken one for the
other--never!"
She glanced up, half timidly.
"I remember you said you should know us apart, but when I told Hope,
she thought she could deceive you at any time."
"Well, she knows better now!" he returned meaningly.
"Why? Did she ever try it?"
"Yes, once." He laughed enjoyably.
"She did. And she never told me!"
"Certainly not, for she failed entirely. I thought she would want to
keep it to herself, so I never betrayed her."
"That was nice of you, Mr. Carnegie!"
"Only commonly decent, it seems to me. And, you see, I have told now."
"Told what?" asked Hope, approaching, with something very like a scowl
on her bright face.
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