"Well?"
"She was a very great friend of mine," repeated Severino. "That was
all."
And he sighed.
"So I have heard," said Langholm, with sympathy. "I can well believe
it, for I might almost say the same of her myself."
The 'bus toiled on beside the park. The two long lines of lights rose
gently ahead until they almost met, and the two men watched them as they
spoke.
"Until to-day," continued Severino, "I did not know whether she was dead
or alive."
"She is both alive and well."
"And married again?"
"And married again."
There was a long pause. The park ended first.
"I want you to do me a great favor," said Severino in Knightsbridge.
"She was so good to me! I shall never forget it, and yet I have never
been able to thank her. I nearly died--it was at that time--and when I
remembered, she had disappeared. I beg and beseech you, Mr. Langholm, to
tell me her name, and where she is living now!"
Langholm looked at his companion in the confluence of lights at the
Sloane Street corner. The pale face was alight with passion, the sunken
eyes ablaze. "I cannot tell you," he answered, shortly.
"Is it your own name?"
"Good God, no!"
And Langholm laughed harshly.
Pages:
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270